


Stealing Sweet Dreams

by Kagemihari (soracia)



Category: Gundam Wing/AC
Genre: Drama, Fluff, Get Together, Humor, M/M, Romance, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2004-04-05
Updated: 2005-04-17
Packaged: 2017-10-23 20:40:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 26,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/254768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soracia/pseuds/Kagemihari
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thievery, sneakiness, shampoo, a little angst and a lot of shouting...but this is a fluffy 1x2 get-together fic. Really. Eventual 3x4 as well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: some angst, denial, my brand of humor, fluff and sap. Heero POV.
> 
> Disclaimer: Gundam Wing and all characters belong to Bandai, Sunrise, Sotsu and peoples.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: This is my first attempt at writing a fluffy get-together fic. This part is the prologue, and works fairly well as a stand alone ficlet, but there will eventually be at least 15 chapters.

**Stealing Sweet Dreams - Prologue**

It was a tiny motel, not a very well-kept one. It wasn't exactly _seedy,_ but it was by no means comfortable. It did, however, smell strongly of disinfectant and other cleaning products, so apparently it was at least clean. The rooms gave a new definition to the word 'small', and the only available one was a single room. Still, there were just the two of them; they could share the bed if they had to. They had been in worse places, many times.

Heero sat at the tiny table, in a less-than-trustworthy, uncomfortable chair, his laptop on the table in front of him. He was not looking at the screen. On the other side of the small room, Duo Maxwell sat wearing only his boxers, brushing his hair. Heero himself was already done with his nighttime preparations, and he was waiting, somewhat impatiently, for Maxwell to finish so that they could turn out the lights and get some sleep.

He felt somehow threatened as he sat there, a vague sense of impending doom, but he could not attach it to any specific factors. He sat, silent, watching the brush move in it's long, smooth rhythmic strokes through the gleaming mass. That incredibly long hair. Such a useless vanity, what a waste of time and energy. He opened his mouth to say brusquely, "You should cut it all off," -and closed it again without a word. What business was it of his, what Maxwell did with his hair?

Maxwell laid the brush down, and perhaps he felt the weight of Heero's impatient scrutiny more keenly than usual, for instead of rebraiding it for the night as he usually did, he looked over and said, "Done. Hit the lights on your way over here, will you?" And without further comment he climbed under the covers, taking the side closest to the wall.

Heero had already gotten up as soon as Maxwell finished speaking, reaching for the light switch, but his mind was still processing the comment. That was odd. He had figured he still had another five or so minutes to wait, while Maxwell remade his braid. He frowned to himself. He hadn't been that annoyed, had he? He wondered if his impatience had shown more than he meant it to. Feeling at a bit of a loss, he stood in the tiny clear space in the center of the room, puzzling over it.

"Are you just going to stand there all night?" came the bemused voice. "I don't bite, Yuy. Jeez. You're freaking me out." He could feel those deep blue eyes, peering at him in the darkness with wary confusion. He heard more than saw a hand pat the empty side of the mattress. "Come and get into bed." Was the faint coaxing note in the tone only his imagination?

 _'Come into my web, said the spider to the fly.'_ Startled out of his thoughts, Heero frowned. Where did _that_ come from? He snorted and mentally smacked himself. Jeez, indeed. He crossed the now dark room and crawled in beside the other boy.

Damn, he'd forgotten how Maxwell was a restless sleeper. The Deathscythe pilot turned over, several times, changing his position on the lumpy mattress. Heero hadn't been kicked outright yet, but it was a near thing, he felt. Maxwell stretched again, and flopped back against his pillow with a sigh.

"Maxwell, will you _hold still."_

"Sorry," the other boy muttered. Heero did not reply. At his silence, Maxwell turned to face the wall-and Heero choked suddenly as he found himself with a faceful of hair.

"Maxwell!" he growled, clawing his face free and throwing the other pilot's hair at him. "Why the hell didn't you braid this mess?"

"Because you were sitting there glaring at me already, that's why!" Maxwell snapped back. "See if I ever care what you think again," he muttered. Sitting up, he pulled his hair over his shoulder and twisted it several times into a loose rope. Then he laid down again facing the wall, his back stiff with frustration and annoyance as he held his hair against him.

Heero restrained a sigh. So much for that. He hadn't really meant to be so obvious with his impatient stare-he prided himself normally on doing a good job of hiding what he was thinking. He'd been sloppy, letting his guard down like that. This was Maxwell's fault, he was sure of it. He lay on his back and closed his eyes, exercising his training to put himself to sleep. As he faded into unconsciousness, a stray thought in his mind identified the scent of Maxwell's shampoo: the faintest hint of lavender.

In the morning he woke early, as he often did, and found himself laying on his side. Instantly alert, he held still for a moment...something was not quite right. Something tickled his nose, and he opened his eyes just a crack-oh. Maxwell's hair had gotten away from him again, and was currently pooled on the bed between them, inches from his nose. He held back a sneeze, and for a moment, idly watched the highlights glinting on the chestnut strands.

Raising a hand to scratch his nose, he froze, his eyes opening wide. What the _hell_? Grimacing, suddenly disgusted with himself, he shook off the handful of Maxwell's hair he'd been...well, it had been tangled around his hand. He sat up, swinging his feet over the side of the bed, and shivered suddenly at the rush of cool air on his skin. It had nothing to do with the silky feeling of light brown hair sliding over his arm as he turned away.

He felt Maxwell come awake behind him at his movement, tensing as he took inventory of his surroundings. Then a half-groan of protest-at the earliness of the hour, he supposed-and rustling as Maxwell curled himself into a ball and buried his face in his pillow.

Shaking his head, Heero wondered if he would have to drag the Deathscythe pilot out of bed later. He hoped not. He rubbed his face with his hands, sighing. He felt alert and rested, and his mind was already tracking the problems and possiblities of the day ahead. Getting to his feet, he snagged his jeans and towel and headed for the shower. He did not have to glance behind him to know what he would see: Maxwell was curled up with his face hidden, denying daylight for as long as possible. Several inches of his bare back were showing where he had not bothered to cover it again, and his long loose hair was flung out behind him, heavy ripples of chestnut and mahogany on the stark white sheets.

"Maxwell, get up," he threw over his shoulder in a sharp tone. "We have a lot to do today." There was an edge to his voice that had nothing to do with Maxwell's supposed laziness, and everything to do with the clearness in his mind of the image he had not seen.

He did not slam the door.


	2. Parts 1-3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: Yeah, so, I went for the traditional pairings in this fic. I almost didn't, but it just kind of happened that way. Kat kind of wrote himself into this chapter a little more than I had planned on, and it was his decision. Hopefully, it's not too cliche in spite of that. I've personally never read a fic quite like this. Thanks to Steve Parker for the inspiration, which came from a quote in his 'And Never the Twain Shall Meet', which apparently struck my Janson muse's rather twisted sense of humor at an interesting angle.
> 
> Thanks to Hiriyou and Lóceheri for betaing, helpful comments, and other sundry bits of advice.

**CHAPTER 1**

Heero sighed as he shut down the systems of Wing and unstrapped himself from the cockpit. Mission accomplished. He was looking forward to sleeping for several hours. And not sleeping next to Maxwell. In fact, he was looking forward to not sleeping in the same room as Maxwell.

Maxwell was a lot of things, but first and foremost, he was goddamned annoying; and sharing a bed with him was not at the top of Heero's list of favorite things. It didn't even _make_ the list. Even if it was just one night. He wasn't entirely sure why, but it had been one of the more uncomfortable and unsettling experiences of his life, and he was not looking to repeat it. Ever.

He had half a mind to send a message to Dr J. to ensure this. Although once he had finally gotten to sleep, he had slept well; but his lingering unease had made things awkward between them today as they completed the mission. It was not going to happen again.

Putting it out of his mind for the last time, he levered himself out of the cockpit and climbed down, standing for a minute and stretching tense muscles. The red light of sunset spilled in the opening of the comparatively small hanger, washing the concrete in a ruby glow and highlighting subtle glints of pink and silver on the edges of the machinery.

Across the open space, Deathscythe's hatch opened and pilot 02 appeared, grinning, his blue eyes looking more violet than usual in the evening light, as they shone with humor and the high of a successful mission.

"Hey, Yuy, made it back in one piece I see."

Of course he was in one piece--why would he be otherwise? He didn't bother to answer the obvious statement. Maxwell swung himself down and dropped lightly to the ground, his long braid falling down over his shoulder. He flipped it back as he sauntered forward, still grinning like he'd just put one over on somebody. Maybe he had.

Heero shook his head and turned to go, not really listening to the ensuing chatter, wondering absently why Maxwell was fighting in this war. He certainly seemed to be passionate and dedicated enough. It was a most comfortable thing, to have the God of Death on your side.

What kind of history would make you call yourself the God of Death? Not that it mattered. This was only the latest of times that Heero had watched the glowing scythe chew through opposing mobile suits like waxworks. 02 was a very, very good pilot, as good as Heero himself--maybe better, although it hurt his pride to admit it. He would, of course, _not_ admit it aloud to anyone.

Forgetting Maxwell, Heero flexed his fingers, and rubbed his thumb over the calluses left by years of piloting. He loved flying Wing, and took great pride in doing it well. One of the few things he truly enjoyed, it was a relief to him to let go, throwing himself into the near-instinctive patterns of flight without having to think about anything except the clean, clear precision of his trajectory and the empty space beyond. He was a skilled soldier, trained for perfection in all areas of fighting and anything that might be necessary to complete his missions; but above all else he was an excellent pilot. Flying anything was a thrill--but flying a Gundam was incredible beyond compare.

It was one of the few places he felt truly free, in the metal shell of his Gundam, racing effortlessly through the starry blackness of space, or soaring high in the air over Earth, with enough firepower at his fingertips to take out a base singlehandedly. An indestructible force, unstoppable by anything--save another of it's kind. The feeling of sheer speed and power he got from being at the controls of Wing was a rush of euphoria that he thought must be like a kind of fierce joy. He was not very familiar with that emotion, so he couldn't say for sure.

Whatever it was, most of the time it almost made up for the harsh, cold fact that the Gundam was a war machine, designed to inflict death and destruction on just about anything in its path; and it's pilot, merely a weapon, an extension of itself. Most of the time, he could ignore the fact that the only purpose of either was to complete whatever mission was assigned to him.

He preferred not to think of it too often. Rather, he focused on the freeness of flight, the adrenaline of a fight, the sense of satisfaction and accomplishment that came from being very, very good at what he did. He could be counted on to complete the mission, every time, no matter what. Even if it meant putting up with the less than enjoyable company of 02 when they had to work together.

Shaking his head, Heero followed the other pilot up to the house, absently watching the braid thump against his back, almost brushing his ass as he walked. If the other guys had already taken bunks that left him rooming with Maxwell _again,_ he was going to sleep on the couch.

=_=_=_=_=

Duo had a feeling that Yuy wasn't really listening to him at all as he led the way out of the hangar, but at least it filled the silence, taking the edge off the strained atmosphere that had existed between them since last night. Had it only been last night? God, but it had been a long mission.

Okay, so it hadn't been that long...but it had seemed like a lifetime. He hadn't slept well at all. What kind of moron had arranged for them to stay in a place that only had single rooms? Jeez...not that he minded getting a little closer to Yuy, he was damn sexy, but it would be a lot more fun with a little cooperation from his partner.

He sneaked a glance at the other boy out of the corner of his eye. Yuy was definitely not listening to him. He wasn't really saying much, though, nothing important, just making conversation. Well, conversation was not the best word--to converse implied at least a two-way chat, and this was definitely one-sided. But it was much, much better than silence.

Silence was a warning. Silence meant trouble. Streets that were too quiet meant something was wrong, a quiet which was too often just the calm before the storm. Silent people were even worse--hard to read, they didn't give you anything to work with. Silence meant they had something to hide. Silence gave you no cover, no distraction to keep someone else from reading you too well.

Silence...meant you had too much time to think. Not the quick, sharp thoughts that kept you alive, but the slow, deep treacherous thoughts that pulled you in and pulled you under, dulled your edge, made you slow down and stop fighting. The kind that made you wonder if living was really worth it.

Duo didn't like silence. So he kept chattering about nothing, a diversionary tactic that he had down to a fine art. When they reached the house, a plain, boring frame house that might once have been a farmhouse, Duo felt the slight easing of tension that came with being in a 'safe' place. A place where you didn't have to stay on high alert; he sighed a little, and relaxed somewhat.

He was looking forward to caffeine, food, a hot shower and a warm bed, in that order. Dumping his gear beside the door for the time being, he watched Yuy disappear down the hall without a word, and shook his head as he headed for the kitchen.

He was relieved to find Quatre there, someone he felt more at ease with, his closest friend among the other Gundam pilots. Someone who would banter with him as he let down, releasing the stress of the mission.

"You made coffee!" he exclaimed with a wide, grateful grin. "You're a lifesaver, Kat."

"Of course," the blonde boy smiled at him. "I knew you would be coming in, wanting it."

Finding a mug in one of the metal cabinets, Duo poured himself a full cup, sniffing deeply as the fragrant steam rose. He took a gulp of the strong black coffee, not quite hot enough to burn, and felt a little better all over. Yeah, that should keep him awake until he managed to get fed and clean.

Though small, the room was warm and comfortable--a good place to sit and eat, or just sit and talk at the sturdy, square wooden table. There were bright yellow curtains at the now dark window above the sink, and Duo wondered briefly if that was color people referred to as 'sunny'. It did give a certain homelike touch to the functional safe house kitchen. Quatre sat at the table with his own cup of tea, keeping him company while he rummaged for something to eat. "How'd it go this time?"

"Oh, the usual," Duo answered, sounding somewhat preoccupied as he made himself a sandwich. "Find the target, blow stuff up, shoot any Ozzies, get out without gettin' captured or killed...mission accomplished."

Quatre chuckled at the flippant answer, and Duo flashed a quick grin in his direction as he replaced the sandwich fixings in the fridge. It was an ugly shade of mustard that clashed with the more greenish yellow of the linoleum that covered the floor--notwithstanding the faint brown pattern, almost too light too see. If someone was going for the sunny theme with all the yellows, here, they had overdone it. Or maybe, they had just been real high on something at the time.

 _And thank you for not sharing,_ Duo thought to himself, smirking. Food in one hand and coffee in the other, he hooked a chair with one foot and turned it sideways, dropping into it with a sigh of appreciation.

Quatre gave him a sharp look. "Tired much?"

"I'm beat," Duo admitted ruefully, setting his mug down so he could pay attention to the sandwich with both hands. "Didn' get much sleep last night." He knew that Heero had hated every minute of the night they had been forced to spend together, and it hadn't been so easy on him either. It had taken him a long, long time to get to sleep, and he knew he'd been restless when he finally did sleep. He'd woken up several times, paranoid about the state of his hair, and annoyed that he was letting it bother him that much.

Finally, disgusted with both the situation and his reaction to it, he had simply given up, turning on his stomach and letting the hair fall where it would. It was Yuy's problem, and if he didn't like it, he could shove it. Duo didn't care what he thought.

 _Liar._ Yeah, right. So, he cared. He snorted in self-mocking amusement. Lot of good that was going to do him--Yuy was determined to dislike him, no matter what he did. It didn't matter anymore. There was nothing he could do to change the other boy's mind about him, and he sure wasn't going to bust a gut trying.

"Say, Kat?" he asked around a mouthful, trying to sound casual. He swallowed and took another drink of his coffee before he continued. "Suppose you could do me a favor, and make sure Yuy and I aren't roomies this time? We've...had about enough of each other's company for a few days."

Raised eyebrows greeted this request. Quatre was aware of Duo's interest in the Wing pilot, and knew that he often went out of his way to reach out to him, in spite of the lack of response to his friendliness. Duo wanting to avoid Yuy completely was highly unusual. "Something happen between you?"

Duo sighed, and winced inwardly. Sometimes Kat was entirely too perceptive. "Not really." He smirked, unable to resist the chance to tease. "We just slept together, that's all." At Quatre's shocked gasp, he chuckled and explained, "Some idiot decided to skimp on our motel room--we had to share the bed. Yuy was not happy."

After a moment, Quatre broke into startled laughter. "Oh my!....I see," he replied, amused. "Well, it won't be a problem--we've each taken a room so far. You can have the other bunk in my room and Yuy will be in with Chang or Trowa."

 _Thank goodness for small mercies,_ Duo thought, a phrase he vaguely remembered hearing Sister Helen use. "Good," he said aloud, hoping his relief wasn't too obvious. From the look on Quatre's face, which suggested he was holding back more laughter, it was. "It's not _that_ funny, Kat," he growled, glaring at his friend.

Quatre did laugh then, a bright, infectious sound that made Duo smile in spite of himself. "I suppose not, for you, but...oh my...I can just imagine the two of you spending an entire night in the same bed...I wish I could have seen it. The looks on your faces must have been quite entertaining."

That got a reluctant chuckle, and Duo shook his head. "Smartass. I'd like to see _you_ spend a night with Trowa--"

"No, that's okay," Quatre cut him off hastily. "I'll just laugh at your expense, thank you--it's much more fun." He smiled cheekily.

With a mock glare, Duo finished off his sandwich and got up from the table. "You just wait, Kat, when it's your turn, you ain't gettin' no sympathy from me. What-so-ever." He scowled threateningly for half a second, then grinned and stretched lazily. "Thanks for the coffee."

"No problem," Quatre answered affectionately. "Go get some sleep. My room is second on the right down the hall. Bathroom is first door on the left if you want a shower."

"I do," Duo agreed fervently, "I do indeed. Nice an' hot, with plenty of scrubbing--feel like I'm covered in grease and grime." He grimaced, and shoved a hand through his bangs. His braid swung as he shook his hair back; he wondered if he was up to dealing with that tonight. It was a mess, and it would feel so good to get his hair clean, but he didn't know if he could stay awake that long.

In the end, he went ahead and washed it, just to get it over with. He knew he'd sleep better if he did, even though it would still be damp when he re-braided it. But he didn't spend as much time on it as he usually did, not bothering to do more than apply shampoo and conditioning once each, getting in and out of the bathroom as quickly as possible. He could see signs of someone else's recent shower, and assumed Yuy had already taken his.

At last, Duo stretched out on the bed with a long sigh of relief. Man, that felt good. A bed all to himself, and no bright blue glare to hassle him across the room. Quatre's eyes smiled a softer blue as he asked if Duo was ready to turn out the light. He murmured a vague affirmative, and Quatre snorted and shook his head as he hit the switch.

"I don't know why I bothered to ask," he said with a dry grin.

"I dunno either," Duo mumbled, trying to grin back, but he was having trouble keeping his eyes open now, and Quatre couldn't see him in the dark, anyway. He shivered, his skin tingling slightly as a stray flash of memory brought back the freaky-odd feeling of Yuy staring at him in the dark last night from the middle of the room.

It was a shame, he thought hazily, that a guy as hot as Yuy was such an uptight jerkoff. Spent a whole night in bed with him, and didn't even remotely get to enjoy it, on any level. He would have appreciated just being that near the guy, sharing body heat and pretending it meant something more; but Yuy's cold attitude and the argument about his hair had killed even that small pleasure.

Yeah, he decided, it was a damn shame. Well, it would be more of a shame to let that night ruin one of his favorite fantasies: A night, just one night to watch Heero Yuy's ice melt, to watch the fire in the blue eyes melt into passion instead of anger. One night to have that passion that surely must exist, somewhere in there, directed at _him_ , Duo Maxwell.

A sleepy, silly smile did cross his face then as he finally drifted off. Hey, a guy can dream, can't he?

  
=_=_=_=_=

 **CHAPTER 2**

Over the next week or so, Duo decided that his fantasy had definitely not been ruined. In fact, it was better than before--he had a whole new beginning for it. It had made him uncomfortable, knowing how irritated Yuy had been, to have the other boy watching him brush his hair. But that didn't change the fact that the intense stare had still made his skin tingle and his stomach feel funny. Kind of an interesting, twisty feeling, that was not entirely unpleasant.

He thought that having that deep blue gaze watching him with a hungry, intent look rather than the usual annoyance or indifference would be very sensual. His fantasy now began with him brushing his hair, and Yuy watching, and in his mind, the eyes on him were not cold and annoyed, but heated and smoldering with desire. The idea made him shiver; even if it was highly unlikely in reality.

Shivering while you worked on your Gundam was not conducive to making good repairs. Duo swore softly as he dropped a bolt, and it rolled away into the farthest recesses of the cockpit where he was working. "Shit," he muttered. He shivered again for good measure, and pushed the fiery blue eyes to the back of his mind for the hundredth time that day.

He really had to stop this, he told himself again, it was pointless to have a thing for a guy who so obviously couldn't stand him. He hung his head, exhaling in a not-quite-sigh, and flexed his shoulders, working the tension out of his muscles. He had resolved, numerous times, to forget it, to stop letting Yuy affect him that way, to accept that they were going to be reluctant partners and nothing more.

Every time he decided that it just wasn't worth it, every time he almost convinced himself that Yuy was just too much of a jerk to be attractive in the least...he would find himself watching the quick, clever motions of his fingers as he typed on that ever present laptop. Watching the way the messy dark hair hung in his eyes, almost hiding the startling blue. So damn touchable, that hair looked...Duo had to restrain himself a dozen times a day from just reaching out and brushing it back to reveal those incredible eyes.

Or he'd find himself watching the way the smooth golden skin rippled across the muscles in Yuy's arms and shoulders as he worked. That damn tanktop didn't really hide anything...and then there were the times that he'd come out of shower wrapped only in a towel, exposing the firm hard lines of his finely toned body, his skin still damp and looking so fucking delicious...and Duo was left with an ache in his groin and a feeling of frustrated longing as his determination crumbled. It was so not fair that Yuy could have this kind of effect on him, and was, apparently, totally incapable of being affected by Duo in return.

And it wasn't for lack of trying, either. He teased, he flirted, he used any excuse to touch him, even if it was just a friendly pat on the back or an arm over his shoulders. Yuy would just completely ignore him, making no response to either the teasing or the contact, as if Duo didn't even exist. If he ever did bother to notice him, it was merely to glare at him, or tell him to fuck off and go annoy someone else for a change. The only time Yuy spoke to him voluntarily or with any kind of civility was on a mission.

On a mission, their differences melted away as if they had never been. They worked as a team, moving in perfect tandem, seeming to be able to guess each others moves. They backed each other up, covered for one another, fought side by side as partners, their talents meshing with a seemingly effortless grace. Duo lived for that feeling of synergy, the euphoria of that unified teamwork, and the satisfaction of knowing that if nothing else, Yuy respected and relied on him as a soldier and a pilot. As a partner. They made a good team, a *damn* good team.

Duo couldn't help but feel that they would make a damn good team off the field, as well. If Yuy would just lighten up a little, let him in, stop freezing him out at the slightest gesture of friendliness. That if the Wing pilot could just turn that fierceness, that fire he showed when he was fighting, and focus it on *him*...they could light each other up like wildfire.

Duo's breath hissed between his teeth, and the spanner he was using slipped out of his suddenly fumbling fingers. It cracked loudly against the control panel he was working on, leaving the glass covering one of the gauges with an oblique, hairline fracture across it's clear surface. "Ahh, *fuck*!" he groaned, sitting back on his heels. He resisted, with some effort, the urge to cuss out the inanimate object. With a heavy sigh he sank down into a sitting position against the opposite panel, resting an elbow on an upraised knee.

He doubted that Yuy would appreciate how ironic it was that he never thought about Duo at all, while Duo seemed to be unable to stop thinking about him. It would be incredibly funny--if only it was someone else's life. He smiled, rather wistfully. Hell, it was funny anyway. A wry laugh and a shake of his head expressed his reluctant amusement. Damn it, he was so screwed.

He gave up and leaned back, letting his mind follow the familiar path, lent a new feeling of reality by the possibility of what might have been. Closing his eyes, he allowed the images to play, seeing how that night *could* have been--if Yuy didn't have such a large stick up his ass.

\----  
 _  
//...Duo sat brushing his hair, the long brown waves rippling as he did so, feeling the weight of a hungry gaze. He threw a heated glance at Yuy out of the corner of his eye, and smiled--a slow, lascivious expression. Yuy's eyes darkened, burning into him, although he didn't move. Duo pulled his hair back and separated it into three strands, preparing to braid it._

 _Yuy was on his feet and halfway across the tiny room in the space of a heartbeat, laying a restraining hand on his arm. The heat from his body radiated from the touch like a flashpoint, raising hairs up and down Duo's arm and on the back of his neck. A flood of warmth washed over him, magnified and echoed by the nearness of that sexy body he only dreamed about touching. Duo paused, looking up at him as he stood there, putting an innocent, questioning look on his face._

 _"Leave it," Yuy said, and his voice was husky, even deeper than usual._

 _A tingle ran down Duo's spine and he shuddered briefly, but he smiled disingenuously. "Hm?" he answered, pretending not to understand the request._

 _"Leave it down," Yuy repeated, reaching to disentangle Duo's fingers from the heavy mass of hair._

 _"Why?"_

 _"Because," came the rumbled answer, very close to his ear, "I like to see you like this."//  
_  
\----

Duo moaned softly; it was at this point in his fantasy that things either got very intense, very quickly....or he lost the illusion completely, as the gap between fantasy and reality became too great to sustain. Sometimes, he couldn't even imagine that happening, couldn't even picture Yuy saying something like that--it was just too far from the truth. Regret was sharp as he realized that today was one of those times; the image wavered and faded out from behind his eyes, vanishing like candle-smoke.

"God _damn_ it," he growled in frustration, snapping his head back, banging it against the hard surface of the control panel he was seated in front of. It didn't even make him wince; he was that upset. He didn't know if he was more frustrated that he'd lost the illusion, or that he'd felt, and given in to, the need to call it up in the first place. Idiot.

Bloody hell, but that night was going to haunt him for months. If he'd ever had a hope of erasing the dream, it was all shot to hell. The images and the pull of fascination it held were ten times as strong, now that he'd come so close it for real. Part of the problem was, he wasn't sure if he wanted to erase it.

And yet the sharp edge of discord which separated the dream from the memory, the difference of what had really happened from what he'd dreamed might happen, would sneak up and throw him if he wasn't careful. It stung, that apparently unbridgeable gap. Why the hell couldn't he let go of something that was never, ever going to happen?

Unless they were actually on a mission, Yuy's manner toward him was abrupt, almost hostile, treating Duo as if he were an enemy, rather than an ally. As a general rule he avoided Duo as much as possible, and ignored him or snapped at him when it wasn't. But once the shooting started, once mission mode kicked in, they flowed seamlessly as a unit, working as if they were two halves of a perfect whole.

It really ticked him off--actually, he couldn't decide whether he was more hurt or ticked off, but that usually won--when they returned to whatever 'safe' place they were staying at, and cold indifference and general contempt and disapproval resurfaced. He knew the Wing pilot didn't like him--he just wished he knew why.

=_=_=_=_=

The late afternoon sun was falling through the living room window, throwing shadows across the floor. It was quiet. Trowa was stretched out on the couch, feeling lazy, idly watching the shadows ripple when a gust of wind caused the tree outside the window to sway.

He wondered vaguely where everyone was. Nobody had a mission today, but they all seemed to have vanished. Quatre had been in here earlier, which had been nice. Trowa had watched him watch TV, thinking to himself what a wide range of expressions some people's faces had. Quatre seemed to have a different expression for every emotion; Trowa hadn't realized it was possible to be that expressive about something as passive as watching TV.

But then, Quatre was expressive about everything. Not in the same high-energy fashion that Maxwell was, but with a quiet animation that showed his thoughts passing on his face like clouds on a summer sky. Whatever he was doing, his emotions flitted across it in a ever-changing series of expressions that were as easy to read as if he were speaking. Not to everyone, maybe. But Trowa had a habit of watching people, and it amazed him sometimes the things that people could tell you if you learned to pay attention to what their faces and body language said.

Watching Quatre was more enjoyable than watching most people, though. He might look innocent and simple enough, but he had a devious streak a mile wide. Trowa had seen with some amusement and a lot more bemusement the way that Maxwell seemed to bring this out in him. The gleam Quatre's eyes got when he was teasing Maxwell was pure mischief.

Trowa smiled to himself, remembering the other night when Quatre had, with a perfectly straight face except for that gleam in his eye, handed Maxwell his usual cup of coffee. Trowa had watched with covert interest as Maxwell took a drink, coughed, sputtered, and made a truly amazing face.

"What the hell is that?" he had growled when he could talk again.

Quatre had smiled, and the gleam in his eyes was quite obvious now; Trowa wondered if Maxwell had noticed. The smile itself was innocuous enough, though, and the words even more so. "Coffee." He had paused, waiting until Maxwell was about to launch an outraged protest before he continued, "Sweetened coffee. Very sweet. Not so easy to swallow, is it?"

Maxwell had turned an interesting shade of red, and shut his mouth with a snap. "Sweet?" he finally asked suspiciously.

Quatre just nodded, his smile now openly devilish. After a moment, Maxwell had shaken his head ruefully, and very carefully tasted the drink again. He screwed up his face as he swallowed it, and shuddered. He had looked from Quatre to the coffee and back again, then broke into a crooked grin. "Okay, okay," he'd said, laughing finally. "You win, Kat. I can *not* drink this stuff." And he had walked over to the sink and poured it out.

Trowa had been more intrigued by the triumphant smirk on Quatre's face as Maxwell retreated. He never did find out what exactly that had been in retaliation for, but he was fairly certain that it had something to do with a comment Maxwell had made about Quatre being too sweet to be in this line of work. Trowa grinned to himself. He might be sweet, but that didn't make him any less dangerous. It just made him more interesting.

An sudden shout from the upper floor shattered the quiet afternoon--apparently the others were in the house after all.

"Maxwell, you are dead!" came the angry threat. Quickly followed by running feet, a crash and a faint thud, and a slamming door.

Trowa sat up with easy grace, stretching his long limbs briefly, and wandered out to see if he could find someone who knew what all the excitement was about.

=_=_=_=_=

Upstairs, Heero stood in the middle of their room, breathing hard. He glared fiercely at the braided pilot, who was sprawled across his own bed as if he'd been thrown there. Heero didn't know why it bothered him so much to have Maxwell getting into his things, just that it did. He didn't want Maxwell anywhere near his stuff, didn't even want him on this side of the room. Damn him.

He must have been here for awhile too--what was he doing, laying on the bed? Why didn't he use his own for god's sake? Now Heero's entire half of the room smelled faintly of lavender, instead of just the bit of it he caught every now and then when Maxwell walked by.

Maxwell was looking at him warily, still in the spot where he'd landed when Heero had shoved him. "I wasn't doing anything!" he protested loudly, a look of innocent hurt on his gamin's face. Heero wasn't buying it.

He glared at the Deathscythe pilot, wishing he knew more about interrogation techniques. He was sure Maxwell had been up to something, but 02 was a master of evasion...he didn't know where to start. As they remained frozen in their staring match, they could hear faint echoes of a conversation downstairs.

"What's going on?" Trowa's voice floated up, asking no one in particular.

Wufei answered absently, "Maxwell and Yuy are fighting, again." He sounded bored. It was a fairly common occurrence, nothing to get excited about.

"Ahh." Trowa was silent for a moment, needing no other explanation. Then his quiet voice came again, "We shouldn't let them room together. It's bad for mission security. They're loud enough for the neighbors to hear, when we have neighbors.

"Aa," Wufei agreed, "but they're partners. They work so well together; why can't they live together?"

Duo was silently wondering the same thing, but he stayed motionless on the bed. Sometimes you had to treat Yuy with the same caution as a wild animal--you didn't want to make any sudden moves.

Heero, on the other hand, had frozen as soon he heard the word 'mission'. His anger suddenly faded in a wash of self-recrimination. Dammit! Maxwell was doing it again--getting past his guard, getting under his skin, making him react in ways he normally wouldn't. Trowa was right; this kind of behavior was a potential risk to the team's security. Fuck. Maxwell was an idiot, anyway.

Realizing that 02 was still watching him warily, waiting for a reply, he repeated it aloud as he turned away, growling, "You're an idiot, Maxwell. Stay the hell out of my stuff."

But the room still smelled like lavender.

=_=_=_=_=

It had been a long couple of weeks for Heero. Yet again he'd been stuck in a room with Maxwell for most of that time, and he was so frustrated, he wanted to hit something. Maxwell would do nicely, he thought. He couldn't do that, though, since they were supposedly on the same side. And he actually liked having 02 as a partner, they got along remarkably well for being as incompatible as they were. Heero liked having someone at his side he could depend on, and 02 was good. Really good.

He was sharp and quick, and he put that chatter of his to good use for a change--he could talk anyone into or out of just about anything, it seemed. And Heero almost enjoyed the witty remarks when they were directed at someone else; he'd come near to laughing a few times when he'd heard certain things over the com that Maxwell yelled at the enemy. It was, of course, a waste of energy in the middle of a fight--but it didn't seem to affect his piloting skills any. He could still fly circles around pretty much anything they faced. And shoot them down afterward, too.

Heero would rather have Shinigami back him up on a mission than any two of the other guys put together. But that didn't make him any easier to live with. Maxwell was irritating as hell, and twice as obnoxious. But Heero was more puzzled by the nagging feeling of threat he got from just being around the other boy.

He was...dangerous. To the enemy, obviously; but Heero felt the danger on a personal level, a wariness, as if Maxwell would blow up in his face if he got too close. He talked too much, smiled too much, got way too close and into your personal space if he decided he was going to be your friend. And for some unfathomable reason, he had decided that Heero was his friend. If he wasn't so damn good at what he did, it would be a lot easier to avoid him. Maybe.

The fact was, they were more effective together than either would have been on their own. It was logical and efficient for them to fight together. But that didn't mean he had to like it.

As he took his shower that night, he used the time alone to analyze the problem.

Heero didn't know what it was about 02 that irritated him so, but something about him just put Heero on the defensive. Whenever he was around, there was a faint air of tension, like a warning, that made Heero feel restless and on edge, all the damn time--it was exhausting.

It was impossible to keep his guard up like that continually. Eventually he would wear down, and a seductive sort of lassitude would take hold of him, an ease and almost an apathy, where he wasn't really paying attention to Maxwell at all. And while that might seem a good thing, since Heero went out of his way to ignore him when possible, this was a different sort of inattention that was damn scary.

It was a feeling as if he'd been lulled into turning his back on an enemy--except 02 wasn't an enemy, right? He would find himself listening to the Deathscythe pilot's chatter, not the words so much but the cadence of it, an almost hypnotic soothing sensation, as if the words and presence were an enchantment, to snare him into a false sense of security.

For that was the feeling it gave him, that apathetic state, a sense that all was well, and someone else had point, and he didn't need to think or worry about anything. A feeling almost of quiet peace, and *that* scared the hell out of him. How could he even think that anything like peace existed in this war torn world?

The shock would snap him out of it, making him aware again with a sharp, screaming sense of wrongness and betrayal. And he would be back to the edgy, wary restlessness that was 02's usual effect on him. It was a vicious cycle that he was getting very damn tired of. And he wanted a pair of scissors, or a knife, even, in the worst way.

The hot water streaming down had done a good job of relaxing his tense muscles as he thought, but now he could feel them tightening again. That fucking braid, god, Heero hated the braid. It was a fucking menace.

He just knew it was part of the hypnosis. It would swing back and forth, back and forth against Maxwell's back as he walked, drawing the eye irresistibly to the swaying motion. If it wasn't swinging with his every move, then he was playing with the end of it, brushing or swatting something with it. It was a miracle it didn't get caught in things like slammed doors as Maxwell banged through them. Heero smiled grimly, imagining that scenario.

An incredibly impractical and pointless thing, he thought, and he made a conscious effort to relax himself again. He reached for the shampoo to wash his hair. The shower wasn't helping to ease his tension anymore, and he wanted to finish as quickly as possible. Damn...he'd forgotten to replace his shampoo and there was barely any left. He growled in annoyance, as he worked the small amount into his hair, and realized that it wasn't enough to work up a lather.

Sighing, he grabbed someone else's and borrowed some, in his haste accidentally squeezing out more than enough. He wanted out of here, goddammit, so he could go to bed and sleep, and put all of his confusing thoughts out of his mind.

Said thoughts continued circling around in his mind as he hurriedly finished with his hair. That stupid braid. He scowled. He had to catch himself often to keep from growling at the other boy to just get rid of it. Cut the damn thing already. Sometimes he didn't catch himself in time, and he made a snide or bitingly sarcastic comment about the uselessness of it, which was embarrassing.

Embarrassing because it was, after all, none of his damn business, and Maxwell would invariably laugh at his comment as if he found it very amusing, telling him that it had it's uses. And that Heero shouldn't care anyway as long as he didn't have to take care of it. A statement that was always accompanied by a suggestive look, as if to imply that Heero could take care of it if he wanted to.

A suggestion that had appalled Heero the first time he had caught it, and now more often left him with conflicting reactions of annoyance, confusion, anger, and frustration. A quick retort of 'Hell no!', was the first thing that came to mind. But he didn't know if that was the proper way to respond to it. He had a feeling that Maxwell would find that even more amusing.

He didn't really think that Maxwell was serious about it, that was just how he was. Flirting and suggestiveness seemed to come naturally to him, it was part of his teasing nature; but Heero didn't know the rules of that game, and didn't want to play if he had known them.

Finally rinsing his hair out completely, he shut off the water with a sigh of relief and got out. He toweled himself off with mechanical efficiency, then used the dry side to rub the excess moisture out of his hair with a few quick, rough motions. Wrapping the towel around his waist, he shook his hair into place in it's usual messy fashion, and went to seek the sanctuary of sleep.

It was only later, as he rolled over on his stomach and buried his face in the slightly damp pillow, that he realized that the shampoo he'd borrowed had been Maxwell's. He groaned internally. Great, just great. Like there wasn't too much of that scent in the room already.

He flipped determinedly onto his back and firmly shut his eyes. Forget it. He refused to let Maxwell annoy his rest as well as his waking hours. Taking a deep breath, he let his training kick in, forcing his heart rate to slow and his breathing to become regulated, putting him safely under in a matter of minutes.

  
=_=_=_=_=

 **CHAPTER 3**

Oddly enough, Heero slept well that night, in spite of the scent of lavender that colored his dreams. And with a faint feeling of unease, he realized the next day that he couldn't remember any of them. His dreams were usually colorful and vivid, the images of death and destruction easily recalled to his waking mind. They didn't intrude on his conscious thoughts often, but if a stray remark or image brought them to mind, his memory of them was sickeningly clear. Due to his training and his practical nature, he didn't allow himself to dwell on them, banishing them the moment they resurfaced--but he was vaguely disturbed by this sudden inability to recall them at all.

He put shampoo on the supply list so that it would be sure to get picked up on the next run to the store, and promptly forgot about it. No use worrying about things you couldn't do anything about. It was a waste of time.

Unfortunately, the supply run wasn't scheduled to be made for several days yet. But it didn't matter. He would just keep using Maxwell's. He smirked to himself as he decided this; there was a certain satisfaction, a feeling of justice in giving Maxwell a taste of his own medicine. If it were anyone else he would feel that he had to ask...but he felt no particular guilt over not asking this time. The pilot of Deathscythe was always using his things without permission, and it grated on Heero's nerves.

They were his, the only personal possessions he truly owned, and the easy familiarity with which Maxwell appropriated them whenever he felt like it made Heero feel helplessly unsettled. As usual, such a feeling transmuted into anger before he really registered the initial reaction, and he would lash out at the cheerful thief in what might seem an overreaction--but he hated it when the few things he did have control over were violated in such a careless fashion.

It was a familiarity, a liberty one might allow a close and trusted friend, and while 02 might consider him to be so, he could not say he returned the sentiment. That obvious difference in how they viewed each other unnerved him, to say the least. How could Maxwell let someone in so easily, be so ready to befriend him to that degree? He was himself still somewhat wary of his forced allies, and he couldn't help feeling angry when his personal space was threatened in such a way by someone he barely trusted and certainly didn't like.

Perhaps it was an unreasonable response, but Maxwell was *annoying*. He was confusing and frustrating and half the time Heero didn't know how the hell to react to him. It was a relief to have a single, clear-cut emotion to latch onto and let loose with. Anger was simple, easy, and familiar. Anger meant you were attacking instead of on the defensive.

Heero hated more than anything the defensive, guarded feeling that Maxwell often provoked in him. He was a soldier, a weapon, and defense was an alien concept for him. He was used to facing a threat and eliminating it without mercy; but the nebulous, elusive threat that 02 seemed to be was hard to qualify and impossible to pin down. How could you eliminate a threat if you didn't know what it was, exactly?

The more obvious, if simplistic offense of theft, while it was petty and did not deserve such an extreme response, was much easier to recognize and fight. It might be overwhelming and out of proportion, but the fights his anger invariably precipitated were almost soothing in their familiarity. Comfortable, in fact--one of the few predictable things about Maxwell.

He would pick up something of Heero's, play with it, use it, or wear it, depending on what it was, then put it back; almost always in a different place. Heero would see him, yell at him, cuss him out and Maxwell would retaliate with that sharp tongue of his. Often, they came to physical blows, though they had yet to seriously injure each other. Maxwell's feelings about it usually seemed to be primarily confusion, irritation, and amusement. To his credit, he honestly didn't seem to think it was that big of a deal. Heero knew that the conflict was all his fault; Maxwell wasn't picking fights on purpose. There wouldn't be any fights if Heero didn't start them. But he couldn't seem to help releasing his anger and frustration that way once he had a semi-legitimate excuse.

He knew he shouldn't make so much out of something that wasn't all that important in the scheme of things. And maybe, all by itself, it wasn't. But there was so much about the other boy that just infuriated him, and this was simply one thing too many. He couldn't explain to Maxwell *why* it bothered him so much; he did have his pride. And Maxwell couldn't seem to understand why it would be a problem. *He* was very free with his things among those he considered friends, and he didn't see why anyone else should be different.

It was just one of many things that drove Heero crazy about him. So now he got a certain perverse pleasure out of this--using something of Maxwell's without telling him. Poetic justice or some such. And it saved him the trouble and embarrassment of asking to use someone else's. A satisfactory solution all around. That settled, Heero put the whole affair out of his mind.

  
=_=_=_=_=

Meanwhile, Quatre had watched with some concern the general state of moodiness that Duo had settled into. After what he had taken to calling the 'one night stand'--because it made Duo laugh--his friend had been by turns breezily dismissive, irritable and more sharply sarcastic than usual about anything to do with Yuy. Sometimes he would sit brooding with a dark look on his face that worried Kat because it seemed so contrary to his usual carefree demeanor. When he tried to ask about it or probe for further details about that night, Duo made light of it all as he usually did, but Kat could tell it was bothering him more than he let on.

After the third time in as many weeks that Duo had come back from a mission with Yuy, still sporting his Shinigami grin and in a generally edgy and dangerous mood, Kat had decided not to let him get away with the brush off this time. Unfortunately, he still hadn't gotten very far.

"Duo," he had begun hesitantly. They were sitting on the steps of the back porch, having their usual letdown time. He was perched on the edge of the top step, both hands wrapped around the cup resting on his knees. Duo was sprawled on a lower step, leaning back against the railing, one knee propped up and the other leg stretched out in front of him. Quatre frowned down into his cup of tea, wondering how to ask this in a way that would get Duo to actually talk to him about it.

Duo gave him a sharp look, knowing from the tone of his voice that Kat was about to get serious. He didn't want to get serious. Humor was his defense and his coping mechanism, and although right now it was manifesting mostly as biting sarcasm, it was still more palatable than the bitter regret that would seep through if he let the mask drop.

He ignored the comment with merely a quick grin, keeping up a steady stream of chatter as he relayed the events of the day.

Kat sighed, knowing that Duo was well aware of his intention. He listened to him talk, noticing that most of the witty remarks and derision were at the expense of the OZ soldiers they had faced, not his partner. Duo might be upset with Yuy, but he was honest, taking his frustration out on a target that deserved it.

Actually, Kat suspected that Duo was more angry with himself than with Yuy. He knew that Duo was convinced that Yuy was a hopeless cause, and had pretty much given up on ever really becoming friendly with him, much less anything else. Most of the problem seemed to be the fact that Duo still wished it was otherwise, and was frustrated with himself for still wanting it.

"You're not listening to me, are you?" Duo asked him, raising an eyebrow and grinning.

"I was listening," Kat answered mildly. "You haven't said anything yet."

Duo's smile hardened, and his eyes flashed. "Whatever you wanna hear is not something I'm gonna talk about, Kat. It's over and done with, forget it."

"You haven't," was the sober response.

Duo groaned theatrically, his head thudding back against the wooden railing. "And if you insist on talking about it, I won't, now will I?" Shit, this was exactly where he did not want this conversation to go.

Kat took a careful sip of his tea. "You mad at him?"

"Hell yes, I'm mad at him!" Duo scowled. Then the expression eased into a troubled frown. "No...yes...I don't know. I'm gettin' damn tired of trying to figure him out, Kat. He's great as a partner, awesome in fact, but as a roommate he sucks."

Kat opened his mouth, and Duo cut him off with a short, sharp laugh. "And before you say it, smartass, actually he doesn't, which is the problem." He took a drink of his coffee, then glared at the mug as if it had offended him.

Kat hid his smile. "I was going to say," he said reprovingly, "that we could make sure you don't room with him anymore. You want to call and request that you're not assigned with him anymore?"

"No!" Duo shot back, a little too quickly. He sighed, and reached up to set his coffee on the porch. "I like workin' with him, Kat--hell, I love it. On a mission he's fantastic, we make an amazing team...it's just that it's all over as soon as we get back to base. He's smart and focused, and fast, and a damn good shot, and you know how he can fly that Gundam of his. He's not a bad guy, really--believe it or not, he actually has a sense of humor."

Kat raised an eyebrow at this unlikely statement, and Duo chuckled. "Yeah, I know, it's hard to imagine, but every now and then he comes out with these dry comments that are funny as hell. And that little smirk of his is just sexy." He shook his head. "I just can't figure out why he shuts down like he does once we're Mission Accomplished, and he doesn't need me anymore."

That last came out rather bitter, and Kat winced. "Maybe he's not used to having guys his own age around," he suggested. "He might not know how to act in a social situation."

"Yeah, maybe." Duo didn't sound convinced. "Or maybe he just hates my guts. I don't notice him treating anyone else like they're the most annoying idiot on Earth or the colonies." He picked up his mug again and eyed it, swirling the liquid around the bottom in an absentminded fashion.

"You're the only one that goes out of his way to be friendly with him," Kat pointed out. "The rest of us aren't a threat to him."

Duo snorted. "It takes a pretty cold bastard to see a friend as a threat...tight-assed freak." Ahhh...bad choice of words. Yuy had a *nice* tight ass. Duo spent a lot of time watching that ass out of the corner of his eye. He rubbed his eyes, sighing heavily.

"I dunno, Kat, an' I don't care. He really dislikes me, and I don't know why. But it's his problem, not mine. I don't give a damn anymore." He finished off his coffee in a single gulp and set the mug down with /thunk/ of finality.

Kat had given him a skeptical look, though he didn't press the issue. Duo wasn't listening to him anyway. But he was not so sure that Yuy was as indifferent to Duo as he seemed. That had been about a week ago, and he was still trying to work up the courage to talk to Yuy about his side of it.

Now they had been sent on a separate mission, and he was going to be spending a lot of time with Yuy, who seemed to have relaxed somewhat now that Duo was not around. This was probably the best chance he was going to get. So now he was going to try to talk to him, although he had his doubts about getting anything out of that impenetrable facade. Duo seemed to be the only one who could get him to crack enough to get any kind of reaction out of him. But before he could open a conversation on the subject, something happened that rendered it fairly out of the question.

=_=_=_=_=

It had ended up being another four days before Heero got his shampoo replaced, immediately before he and Winner were sent out on a mission together. As part of getting ready for the mission, he had stocked up on rations, clothing, and personal items for the both of them, shampoo being one of the latter. Being cheap and practical, he had gotten something generic, not really caring what it was or what the hell it smelled like so long as it did the job.

He didn't have any objections to the assignment; Winner didn't bother him the way that Maxwell did. He was just glad that particular irritating pilot wasn't around to confuse him. He needed a break after the stress of the last few weeks, a chance to get himself centered again. A chance to get back to the way things used to be, when Maxwell had been a minor annoyance instead of a major one.

It hadn't occurred to him until the first night, that there had been a strange lack of nightmares during the last several days. When you have constant horrific nightmares and they suddenly stop, you thank the gods or your star or what the hell ever and you *don't* ask why. That night his nightmares had returned in full force, almost the worst they had ever been, and he had woken up in a panic trying to figure out what had gone wrong.

"Yuy! Yuy, wake up!" The voice held a sharp note of command--Heero bolted awake, sweating, chest heaving, feeling disoriented as he forced the world around him to fall into place again.

Winner was standing near his bed, moving closer now that he saw Heero was awake. "Are you alright? You were having a nightmare." His pale blue eyes were wide with concern, but he kept his distance, unsure of how aware the other boy was even now.

Heero stared at him, slowing his breathing as he methodically pulled himself out of the clutches of the dream. He had nightmares all the time, and had for years. He had trained himself to deal with them, so that they rarely affected him to the point of being noticeable to anyone else. He had been living with them for so long now that he'd developed the ability to deal with them so that they didn't affect his performance. This...this loss of control, to the point where he was evidently crying out in his sleep...it was mortifying and mystifying and wholly unacceptable.

How, or why...or *what* could have caused such a drastic change? He shuddered hard, squeezing his eyes shut momentarily as he tried to erase the images and their effect on him. Hell...that had been a *nightmare*. He was used to those, right? They didn't usually interrupt his sleep, or that of his roommates. What the hell...?

He took a careful, calming breath, and his voice was steady as he replied, "I'm fine. It was just a dream, we all have them. Nothing to worry about."

Winner did not look convinced, but thankfully he did not question further. Heero breathed an inward sigh of relief as the young man nodded reluctantly and went back to his own bed. Dammit. This was not good...

Only then did it dawn on him that he had had no nightmares, had in fact hardly dreamed at all, for the last five days or so. It would be even later before he got any idea of why.

=_=_=_=_=

That mission was a tough one--not because it was particularly difficult or taxing, but because Heero was plagued with nightmares every night, and to his bewilderment, he seemed to have completely lost his ability to deal with them. They woke him up, and they woke Winner up, much to Heero's dismay. And while the other pilot, upon receiving a fierce glare the second time this happened, had the decency to leave him alone to deal with them, neither of them was sleeping well because of it. It had Heero frustrated, angry, and a little bit frightened. He was supposed to have this under control, it was supposed to be something he had more or less conquered years ago, at least to a level where he could live with it.

Now, suddenly and inexplicably, his defenses and his control were shaken, nearly shattered, interfering with his ability to complete the mission. And that was most certainly not acceptable. He was having to rebuild the coping mechanisms he'd developed, and reassert his control over his mind and body, while at the same time keeping his performance at an adequate level.

It left him very off balance and slightly confused. Thank the gods that Maxwell wasn't here adding to it, or he would be stressed beyond the breaking point, most likely.

Slightly confused seemed to be the way that Maxwell affected him a lot lately, either directly or indirectly. He was always doing and saying things that were completely unpredictable, and Heero had no idea how to react to him most of the time. Thus, he ignored or avoided him whenever possible. He liked things to be clear, simple, and uncomplicated, to all of which Maxwell was the very antithesis. Avoidance seemed the easiest answer.

Heero didn't like things that weren't rational, weren't logical, and didn't make sense. He didn't like things that were unpredictable, and he hated getting conflicting results for no apparent reason. He didn't like impulse, didn't like rushing into things without getting all the information first. He didn't like any of those things.

Maxwell was all of them.

It made perfect sense, then, that Heero didn't like him--of course. He was loud, obnoxious, he had to be a little bit crazy...maybe a lot crazy. The farther away from him Heero stayed, the better.

The thing he hated most about Maxwell was that not only was he impulsive and irrational, but he made Heero behave in ways that were impulsive and irrational as well. Every time they had a fight, it was about the most stupid things...nobody else could make him lose control of himself like that. It scared him to think that Maxwell could provoke such an intense reaction out of him so easily. It was dangerous. It could not be allowed.

Gradually, over the next week or so, he built up his resistance again, both to the nightmares and the dubious effects of 02's presence on his state of mind. But the incident had shaken him, and he was more determined than ever to ignore Maxwell as completely as possible. He would keep his focus. He didn't need that kind of complications in his life--he had a war to fight.


	3. Parts 4-5

**CHAPTER 4**

Heero actually didn't like going undercover at a school. He felt out of place--the other students were focused on getting good grades and making friends...or in the case of some of them, just having a good time. None of those were anything he gave a second thought to. He got good grades without really trying, and if he needed a higher grade in something, he could always hack the school computer and simply change it.

Making friends was not only not a priority, it was a matter of course not to let anyone get too close. He would have to move on as soon as the mission was completed, and it was better if no one really remembered him as anything but a quiet, studious afterthought. Keeping a low profile was second nature to him.

As for having a good time--he was a soldier; a good time just wasn't in his job description. He viewed that outlook on life with a mixture of wonder and disdain. Did those students even realize there was a war going on? Probably not.

To his surprise, it hadn't bothered him all that much that he was rooming with Maxwell, again. In fact, he had almost been relieved. In spite of their recent differences and Maxwell's outgoing--that is, annoying--personality, Heero much preferred to room with him than with some random student that would be even more annoying and with whom he had even less in common. Maxwell at least knew why he was here, and would not interfere with his mission.

He was also more tolerant of Heero's anti-social behavior, and didn't expect him to act like a normal student; Heero didn't have to worry as much about keeping up appearances. And Maxwell didn't get offended when he was ignored. Which was a good thing, since Heero had been trying very hard not to let the other pilot affect him the way he had before.

So far, it hadn't been a problem; it had been surprisingly easy to relegate his constant chatter to a soothing background noise, and to dismiss the occasional friendly touches as a simple reminder that he was not alone in the mindless crowd of ordinary students.

Right now, the room was quiet. Very quiet--for the simple reason that Maxwell was not in it. The only sounds were the clicking of his laptop keys, and the barely audible hum of the machine. Maxwell had left yesterday on a simple reconnaissance mission, to take a closer look at their target. It was the weekend, so if he left after dark on Friday, and came back after dark on Saturday, he wouldn't be missed. He was supposed to be back later tonight. It was now just after noon; Heero was looking forward to an afternoon and evening of peace.

Yes...it was very quiet. Heero tuned out the silence, ignoring it, and went back to work.

=_=_=_=_=

Duo was bored. It was a simple, easy mission, and it was practically over, and he was *bored*. He really wished he wasn't. He started to think too much when he was bored.

The base which was their target was a fairly small one, and not too far from the school. He was supposed to be finding out what kind of force they would need to take it out. He needed to know what kind of defenses it had, how many soldiers there were, how often the guard changed--the basic things. He was not supposed to actually enter the base, but just to scope it out from a distance. He had found himself a comfortable perch--okay, comfortable was a relative term--but a perch in a nearby tree that was not uncomfortable.

And he'd been sitting there for hours, since early this morning, and had already accomplished his objectives. The base had few defenses, as it was nowhere near any major strategic areas or important cities. It was out in the middle of nowhere--the only reason there was a base here at all, as far as Duo could tell, was simply to serve as a relay point and supply route station. The most important thing about it was that it gave OZ control of the river, and thus, the water supply in this area.

They wouldn't have any trouble with this mission--it would be quick, a hit and run type of thing. He had in fact spent another hour or two planning it out in his head, so that he could give Yuy a preliminary mission plan along with the information when he got back. Not that Yuy would listen to him, of course, but it gave him something to do while he waited for night to fall.

It was now late afternoon, and he still had several hours to go. Once it was dark out again, he could climb down without being spotted, make his way back to the school, and sneak back into his room. Yuy would probably want an instant report. Heh. It could wait.

He missed Quatre suddenly, knowing that if Kat had been there, he would have coffee waiting. But there was no place he could get coffee in the middle of the night...he would have to wait until breakfast. Damn.

He spent awhile longer thinking about how much he would enjoy a nice, hot cup of coffee....mmm. His stomach rumbled, reminding him that all he'd eaten today was a couple of ration bars he'd brought with him. Regretfully he stopped thinking about coffee, or any other edible thing. He doubted that his stomach could grow loud enough to give him away--but better safe than sorry.

A movement down below caught his eye, and he watched silently as the guards were relieved and went off to...well, they left. Yeah. It was close to evening, so they were probably going to--um, go relax. Because they would be hungry--no, tired! they would be tired--after being out here for four hours straight. Of course. They were....tired. And he wasn't--tired--at all.

...Actually, he *was* tired. He leaned his head back and half-closed his eyes as fatigue washed over him. It had been a long, long day. Suddenly his back ached and his ass was sore, and he thought he was getting a cramp in his leg. He shifted, carefully, slowly, and stretched out the offending muscle. It muttered a brief complaint and then eased, and he sighed with relief. Damn, trees were great and all, but they did not make wonderful all-day seats. 'Comfortable' was definitely a relative term. Hell, it was flat out wrong.

He stared up through the thick green leaves overhead. They rustled, moving in the almost non-existent wind. Tiny rays of golden light glinted off their edges. Was the sun setting? It was maybe a shade darker... It was very late afternoon. Might even be evening. He thought briefly about digging out the digital watch in his pocket. Nah...he didn't want to know. He couldn't move until it was full dark, anyway--at least an hour, maybe two. By then, he wouldn't need a watch to tell him it was safe to go.

The leaves rustled some more, whispering among themselves. He wondered what they were saying. What did leaves talk about? Probably wondering who the crazy human was sitting in their tree all day. Maybe laughing at how sore he was going to be; served him right for invading their sanctuary.

As if to confirm his thoughts, a sudden gust of wind whooshed through them, like faint, rustling laughter. He scowled, and raised his hand to make a rude gesture in their general direction--then stopped, thinking better of it. He was still in their territory, after all...he should wait to antagonize them until he was safely on the ground again.

Having successfully distracted himself, he grinned sardonically at the whimsical idea. As if leaves could do anything to him--he should worry more about those damn soldiers from the base. He leaned back, seeing no one after a quick scan of the surrounding area. God, he was bored. Tired and aching, hungry, and bored.

Why again was he the one doing the legwork here? Yuy was probably sitting back in their room, on an actual chair, a really comfortable chair, doing God knew what on that infernal laptop. Supposedly, hacking in to get the plans for the base, so they would be able to organize their mission once Duo got back. Duo wasn't a bad hacker himself--he could have done that, he thought. Probably. Yuy, of course, would be sure that he could do it much better and faster than anyone else.

He was likely right. But Duo could have done it in a reasonable amount of time, and then tough guy Yuy would be the one out here with a sore ass and a cramp in his leg. Or more likely, be out here and be perfectly fine, without a single tense muscle or strained limb. And he probably wouldn't be bored, either. Did Yuy even get bored?

=_=_=_=_=

Heero pushed his chair back and stood, feeling restless. It was almost evening now, and Maxwell would be back soon, assuming he hadn't gotten himself into trouble. Heero dismissed that idea almost before he thought it. No, of course he hadn't had any trouble.

Even Maxwell couldn't get into trouble on a simple recon. He went to go get something to eat.

The dining room was crowded, as usual, and loud, as was even more usual. Heero really hated schools. Making no acknowledgement other than a brief nod to the few people who greeted him, he finished eating as quickly as possible. He snagged two cups of coffee before making his way back to his room. The coffee would be cold by the time Maxwell got back, but it was better than nothing. Heero doubted he would get anything out of him about the mission before he'd had his coffee.

He wandered aimlessly around the room for several minutes, straightening an already neat room. Habit was hard to break, and neither of them had much to begin with. Maxwell seemed to enjoy being in a place where he didn't have to be ready to leave at any moment, and his things were more scattered than Heero's, but still, the room was hardly cluttered.

Heero picked up some books that had been left on the floor (had Maxwell been studying, or actually doing homework? for gods knew what reason--maybe he was bored...) and made a neat stack of them on the table, lining them up so the edges met evenly.

It was so quiet. He set the second cup of coffee down on the desk, and went over to look out of the window, absently watching people walking past in the yard as he tried to place the feeling of discontent.

Not that he missed the 02 pilot, of course. But he had grown used to having him around, in the week and a half they had been here. Naturally, Heero didn't pay any attention to him when he was here, but in some odd way the background noise of Maxwell's chatter, or the rather disturbing music he listened to, helped him focus.

He leaned against the windowsill and wrapped his hands around his warm mug of coffee, breathing in the steam. It wasn't that cold in here, at least, it shouldn't be; but his hands were cold. He flexed the fingers of each hand in turn, curling them against his palm to soak up the residual heat before cradling his mug in both hands again.

Since he had stopped fighting that odd feeling of unease that Maxwell gave him, and begun to simply ignore him, life had fallen into familiar, routine patterns. Heero would be working, doing the minimal studying required to keep up with his classes, or on his laptop doing research for the mission. Maxwell would be sitting, standing, or roaming around the room, doing whatever the hell it was he did. Reading, talking--whether to Heero or himself, Heero never knew and didn't much care--or occasionally singing or humming along with whatever he was listening to. Always at ease, always cheerful, no matter what he was doing.

It was with an odd sense of dismay that Heero realized he'd allowed that feeling of ease to soothe him, to take a hold of him and relax him while he concentrated on other, more important things.

He didn't remember relaxing his guard--on the contrary, he thought he'd been more resistant to Maxwell than ever. Heero had been taking no notice of him whatsoever unless it was absolutely necessary. And Maxwell had seemed content to let him be, continuing to be his usual friendly self, but not as intrusive or demanding as another student would have been. Most of the time, Heero could pretend he wasn't there at all.

Nevertheless, now that he *was* gone, the strange, hollow restlessness of something not being there existed.

Something about Maxwell was...comfortable. Heero tried the word on for size, decided it was adequate. A feeling of comfort. He snorted. Soldiers didn't need comfort. Soldiers couldn't afford comfort. Maxwell was a damned nuisance...he sometimes wished he could just strike off on his own, break this uneasy alliance the five of them had, and fight OZ alone, the way he had when he first came to Earth. But on a professional level....it was better this way.

Heero took a drink of his coffee and made a face. He preferred tea, mostly--coffee was generally too dark and bitter for his taste. And he had forgotten to grab any kind of creamer or sweetener.

He frowned. Maxwell liked his black. Somehow, this must be his fault. Scowling, he turned away from the window and went back to his desk.

=_=_=_=_=

Duo rubbed his eyes, wearily. He couldn't fall asleep; it would be not only unwise, but dangerous, and he had no desire to risk tumbling out of the tree. He needed something else to think about, something to keep his mind occupied, and his thoughts drifted inevitably to something he'd been avoiding.

He hadn't seen Yuy for awhile, and had pretty much convinced himself that he had given up on the Wing pilot by the time this assignment had started. Finding himself rooming with Yuy hadn't changed that, although Duo had to admit that he was still attracted to him. He snorted. Attracted, hell--he'd never wanted anyone so badly in his life. Not so much the cold emotionless soldier he was so familiar with--although Yuy was pretty damn sexy even then--but the more elusive glimpses of fire and heart beneath that frozen exterior.

The partner who was like his other half; the one who disappeared as soon as the job was done. The one who made him ache with loss every time he appeared to tease Duo with a glimpse, and then vanished, like an insubstantial dream.

A very attractive dream. He wished like hell that Yuy *wasn't* so fucking hot, even when he was being a bastard. It was bloody hard to forget the dream entirely when even the reality was so...mmm. A grin spread across his face, and with some effort he refrained from licking his lips. His eyes slid closed, and he hummed softly in appreciation of the image behind his eyes.

Yeah...a *damn* attractive dream. He decided that was okay as long as he remembered that was all it was. Duo supposed he could afford his fantasy; he knew it would never be anything more than that.

\-----  
 _  
...Duo sat brushing his hair, the long brown waves rippling as he did so, feeling the weight of a hungry gaze. He threw a heated glance at Yuy out of the corner of his eye, and smiled--a slow, lascivious expression. Yuy's eyes darkened, burning into him, although he didn't move. Duo pulled his hair back and separated it into three strands, preparing to braid it._

 _Yuy was on his feet and halfway across the tiny room in the space of a heartbeat, laying a restraining hand on his arm. The heat from his body radiated from the touch like a flashpoint, raising hairs up and down Duo's arm and on the back of his neck. A flood of warmth washed over him, magnified and echoed by the nearness of that sexy body he only dreamed about touching. Duo paused, looking up at him as he stood there, putting an innocent, questioning look on his face._

 _"Leave it," Yuy said, and his voice was husky, even deeper than usual._

 _A tingle ran down Duo's spine and he shuddered briefly, but he smiled disingenuously. "Hm?" he answered, pretending not to understand the request._

 _"Leave it down," Yuy repeated, reaching to disentangle Duo's fingers from the heavy mass of hair._

 _"Why?"_

 _"Because," came the rumbled answer, very close to his ear, "I like to see you like this."_

 _A hand lifted his hair, awkwardly, and draped it over his bare shoulder, making him shiver slightly. The hand stroked gently down the shining length, fingers brushing his skin almost by accident...but it was no accident._

 _Duo closed his eyes, soaking in the pure sensation of touch as flames licked across his body. A warm hand lay on his shoulder, the flat palm rough with calluses. Duo knew those calluses very well; they were mirrored on his own hands. They were the result of years of piloting and using various weapons--the hands of a warrior. Hard hands, yet the touch was gentle, full of restrained power. Hands that could crush him, but slid over his skin in caressing fashion, mapping out the lines of his back and shoulders in silken fire._

 _God...this slow sweet torture was going to kill him. A mere touch, that was all, from anyone else it would hardly mean anything....but a touch from Yuy, however brief, was like a spark of fire, even when it was an accidental brush in the course of a day. This, however, the deliberate searching fingers on his skin...it was like being struck by lightning. It was hard to breathe, and he couldn't hear--couldn't hear a thing past the roaring in his ears._

 _Duo reached blindly, seeking, needing to touch in return, heard the slight gasp as he found the bare arm attached to the hand on his hair. He ran his fingertips lightly, teasingly up to the elbow, then back down the inside of the forearm. Another rumble in his ear might have been words, or merely an unintelligible growl...he didn't know. It didn't matter._

 _He turned to face forward and placed his feet on the floor, pulling Yuy closer to stand between his legs. So close...just a handsbreadth apart, if that. He could feel the heat over his entire body, the skin burning as if the surrounding air were suddenly still and far too hot. Raising a hand, he carefully retraced his way up Yuy's arm, not teasingly this time but in a smooth caress, mimicking the hand still resting on his back._

 _His palm slid up over bicep and shoulder, fingers molding to fit the slight curves and bunches of the muscles. Turning his hand, he brushed his knuckles along the collarbone, evoking a slight tremble from his partner. The hand on his back stilled, the steady, warm pressure a center of heat on his burning skin._

 _He lifted his hand and gently, reverently touched the hollow of Yuy's throat with the tips of his fingers. Yuy swallowed convulsively, and tipped his head back. Duo chuckled, a deep, throaty sound, and let his fingers trail downward. When he reached the center of the flat, hard chest, he spread his hand and moved sideways, brushing over a nipple with the tip of each finger. He was rewarded with a sudden sharp intake of breath, then a low moan as he bent his head and flicked his tongue across the nub on the other side._

 _The pressure on his back vanished suddenly, and his loose hair was lifted and spilled down behind him. A hand tangled in the hair at the base of his neck, forcing his head back, eliciting a faint sound of loss as he was pulled away from the delicious taste of smooth golden skin._

 _Then a strong arm crushed him up against the firm hard body before him, and Yuy's mouth descended on his with bruising force. Oh god, yes...he parted his lips willingly, opening for the hot wet entrance of a probing tongue, searching, owning every crevice of his mouth. Hell yeah...he returned the kiss enthusiastically, meeting the assault with his own, a hand on Yuy's neck to hold him--not that he showed any inclination to stop._

 _A hand on his shoulder pushed him back--he thought vaguely that Yuy must have let go of his hair to get a hand free--and he pulled the Wing pilot with him as he lay back on the bed. The sheets were cool against his back for barely an instant before the heat blazed up again, erasing any memory other than the fire of skin pressed against bare skin, and the fierce hunger of Yuy's mouth sealed on his._

 _God, it was so good....all he wanted was more...  
_  
\-----

A rude shout broke in at this point, shattering the illusion into tarnished splinters of false memory. "Hey! You up there!"

Duo's first thought was, 'What the hell?' The second was, 'Oh, shit!'

=_=_=_=_=

Heero had finally taken his work to the library. It seemed that Maxwell could annoy him even when he wasn't there...Heero kept expecting to hear him, kept trying to tune him out only to realize that it was already quiet. He found himself listening for Maxwell's step in the hall or his voice behind him, dreading the inevitable return to normalcy.

He couldn't even enjoy the silence; it seemed too fragile, and as time edged closer to evening he kept expecting that at any second Maxwell's eternally cheerful voice or his annoying laughter would come to shatter it.

So he had taken himself and his laptop to the library, submerging himself in the electronic world, oblivious to the whispering background of library traffic.

When he finally wandered back into their room, he was surprised to see it was dark, save for the moonlight streaming in the window. He had been in the library for longer than he had realized. A rush of satisfaction filled him; he had successfully regained his concentration. He hadn't thought about Maxwell at all for hours.

Then he frowned. Where was Maxwell? He should be back by now. But his bed was empty.

He went over to the desk, not bothering to turn on a light, absently picking up a few papers and laying them neatly on the stack of books to his left before setting his laptop down. A quick glance at the clock confirmed the time; it was late. Maxwell should definitely be back by now.

Heero checked the room quickly in the faint light from the window, but there was no sign of Maxwell or even a pile of his stuff dumped on the floor to show that he had gone to eat or shower. He hadn't returned yet. Heero's frown grew deeper. If that idiot had managed to fuck up such a simple mission, Heero was going to let him have it when he got back. There was no way he should have had any trouble at all. He wasn't even supposed to have been on the base.

Damn him. If he had somehow managed to get himself captured, Heero was NOT going to rescue him. If he got his ass into trouble on an easy mission like that, he could get himself out. Heero crossed to the window, as if it were a looking glass to tell him Maxwell's whereabouts. There was nothing outside but the dark, empty schoolyard.

He turned his back on it and leaned against the sill with his hands in his pockets. Shit. He wasn't worried about Maxwell, who could bloody well take care of himself. But this meant the overall mission was going to be delayed by at least a day, maybe more if Maxwell had gotten himself injured.

The frown turned into a scowl, and Heero folded his arms, glaring at the ugly, practical carpet on the floor. He *hated* this school, and he wanted to move on as quickly as possible. He growled softly, wanting to hit something, then caught himself. God damn it...not again.

As always, the irrational anger faded quickly once he realized it's source. How the hell did Maxwell always fuck with his head like that? Why couldn't Heero seem react at all reasonably when he was around? Even indirectly, he provoked the most extreme and insensible responses....it was maddening and frustrating, and Heero was sick to death of it.

He sighed, and pushed away from the window. He should just go to bed--if Maxwell was this late, any kind of debriefing would have to wait until morning anyway.

He stood motionless, surveying the darkened room. The silent, very empty, darkened room. His eyes fell on the neatly made beds. Maxwell's, of course, had not been slept in, and was unnaturally tidy. It never looked that neat even after Maxwell had straightened it in the morning. The scene held an almost surreal, dreamlike quality, and with some effort, Heero ignored the prickle of unease at the back of his neck.

Annoyed, he strode over to the bed, intent on rumpling it a bit. Maxwell would be back soon enough, and there was no point in leaving it neatly made when he probably wouldn't even notice if it was. He paused in the act of reaching for the coverlet, recognizing yet another irrational reaction. Fuck! What the hell was wrong with him?

He groaned in frustration and confusion, sitting on the edge of the bed with his head in his hands. He had successfully ignored Maxwell just fine while he was here, dismissing him without a thought the whole time. Now that he was gone, Heero was losing his ability to focus? This did not make sense. He took a deep breath, reaching for the center of calm he had found earlier.

It didn't matter. None of it mattered. Maxwell would be back yet tonight, probably very soon, and most likely, nothing had gone wrong. Heero would just sit here and wait for him, and chew him out for the delay when he got back.

He scooted back to lean against the wall, crossing his legs and folding his arms. He would wait a little while, just to make sure Maxwell hadn't screwed anything up on his mission.

Nothing had happened to him. Of course not.

  
=_=_=_=_=

 **CHAPTER 5**

Heero wasn't sure what woke him. He lay still for a moment, listening, but there was no sound. His first thought was Maxwell; but in that case, shouldn't there be more noise? And his internal time sense told him that it was early; much earlier, in fact, than Maxwell preferred to get up when he had a choice. But there was something…he sensed light on his eyelids, and realized that at least the sun had risen.

Still, the feeling of something not right persisted. Gradually it occurred to him that the light lavender scent of Maxwell's shampoo was very strong, much stronger than usual. He bolted upright at the thought, suddenly afraid that 02 was again sharing a bed with him. But no, that didn't make sense…with a wrenching feeling of disorientation, he realized that he was not in his own bed, that he had in fact fallen asleep fully clothed on that of the other pilot.

Last night came rushing back in a bunch of mixed emotions, starting with an irrational fear and ending with extreme annoyance, tinged with anger. Dammit! Maxwell had been late.

Heero had been waiting for him, sitting on his bed late at night. He hadn't gone on to his own bed to sleep. Because Maxwell hadn't come back.

Heero did a quick check of the room--no sign of Maxwell or his things. He still wasn't back. Bloody hell.

At some point during the night, Heero must have slept, falling over in his sleep to lay on the pillow. Thus, the strong scent of lavender. He'd fallen asleep and slept deeply right through until morning--very early morning, but not so much earlier than he usually awoke. Nothing had disturbed his sleep; not a sound, not Maxwell's return or lack thereof, and not a single dream.

Not a single dream.

He scrambled up and off the bed, a feeling almost of dread taking hold of him. He hadn't had any nightmares. The last time he'd slept without dreaming, he hadn't thought about it until afterwards....when his nightmares had returned worse than ever. They had been bad enough to break through his control, seemingly regardless of his years of conditioning. This time...he might, probably would have the same reaction. Tonight would probably be hellish.

Damn, damn...what was going on here? His mind and body had never refused to obey his commands and slipped his training in such a way before. For no apparent reason, suddenly he couldn't predict his own behavior and responses, and it was, as Maxwell would say, creeping him out.

A stray thought crossed his mind, which he dismissed almost immediately, noting that he was again sleeping on a pillow that smelled of lavender. The same as last time, when his own had been damp from freshly washed hair...washed using Maxwell's lavender shampoo. But no! That was ridiculous. Of course, that had nothing to do with it. Merely a coincidence. Heero shook his head, and crossed to the window, as if it might be able to tell him where his partner was.

What had the idiot gone and done? Gotten himself captured? The mission was probably a dead loss. And there was no way Heero was going looking for him. Shit. He stared blankly for a minute at the cold cup of coffee sitting on the desk.

Nothing to do but wait and see if he could get any news of a prisoner or some other mishap off the nets. With a sigh, he turned back to face the neat and tidy room. Might as well change clothes and get ready for the day; it was almost the time he normally got up anyway.

  
Several hours later, after having spent most of the early morning trying to hack further into the base's computers to find any record of his partner, he got up to stretch a bit.

His mind returned to the puzzle of last night with a lingering sense of dread. No nightmares was a good thing...except that it meant they would be back with a vengeance later on. Grimacing, he wondered how many free nights he would get this time.

It seemed as if he could still smell Maxwell's shampoo in the air. Jesus. He shook his head sharply; that had nothing to do with anything.

He paced the room from the window to the door several times, and was just about to take his seat again, when a movement outside the window caught his eye. What the *hell*?

Down below in front of the school gates sat a police car. Out of the backseat came a slight, black clad figure who waved impishly at the officers as he climbed out.

Duo Maxwell.

=_=_=_=_=

"Take care, kid!" One of the officers who had brought him home waved at him as Duo headed toward the school's gates.

He waved back, grinning, and shut the gate with a clank behind him. Then he sighed, standing there looking up at the second floor where their room was. He made a face. Damn, Yuy was going to have his head for this. Well, he'd gotten caught, but he hadn't gotten captured, exactly, and that was something. He doubted Yuy would be greatly appreciative of the difference. Shaking his head, he started resolutely up the walk, whistling.

When he got to the room, he was almost not surprised when the door flew open as he was reaching for the knob. His irate partner stood on the other side, yanking him into the room and hissing angrily, "Where have you *been*?"

"Checking out the base," Duo answered nonchalantly, trying to act as if nothing had gone wrong. Not an easy thing, when he was on the receiving end of a glare that could melt stone, probably.

Yuy's hand twitched, as if he were restraining the urge to shake him. "And the police? How did they get involved? Do you have any idea how much attention you've drawn with this fiasco? You were supposed to be back last night! What did you *do*?" Yuy kept his voice down--he had to, since there were other students in all the surrounding rooms, but his tone was infused with sharp accusation and shaking with fury.

"Hey, man, take it easy," Duo said soothingly, a little nervous about his partner's volatile state, although he was completely unsurprised by the reaction. "Hardly anyone's up at this hour anyway." Except crazy ass bastards who *always* got up way too freaking early, even when they didn't have to. "Nothing happened, Yuy. I got a little sleepy while I was waitin' for it to get dark, and I guess after dark there's an extra search patrol with dogs outside the base. They found me up a tree, wanted to know who I was, what was I doing, where was I from." He shrugged. "I just told 'em I was playin' hooky from school today and fell asleep. They took me to the police station as a truant or somesuch. That's all."

"That's plenty," Yuy snarled at him. "What the hell do you mean, you fell asleep? On a surveillance mission?" In a tree? "Are you insane?"

Apparently so, given this stupid crush on the asshole that he couldn't seem to get over. Okay, so he hadn't fallen asleep, not exactly. Telling Yuy he'd been daydreaming--never mind what he'd been dreaming *about*--was even less of a good idea. Falling asleep was close enough. It wasn't stretching the truth, much.

He shrugged again in answer to all the questions, and pushed past Yuy to drop his gear on the floor beside his bed. Noting absently that things were not as he had left them, he assumed Yuy had been cleaning up after him again. The man was a neat freak, frowning in disapproval every time Duo left clothes or books or anything on the floor.

"Maxwell! I'm talking to you!"

"Yeah, yeah, I hear you. Look, I been out all night; d'you mind if I shower and get somethin' to eat before you give me the third degree here? You can kick my ass about this later." Sitting on the edge of his bed, he kicked off his boots and started peeling off his socks without waiting for an answer.

Yuy was still scowling at him, opened his mouth probably to harass him some more, then closed it again. "I want a full report," he growled. Stalking over to the desk, he grabbed a cup that had been sitting to one side and thrust it at Duo.

Duo stared at him in surprise and some suspicion. "What's this?"

"Coffee." The tone was flat, hard, no explanation forthcoming. Brows still drew together in a fierce line over steely blue eyes that flashed a warning, and Duo decided not to question further. Coffee he would accept from his worst enemy.

"Thanks, man," he replied with real appreciation. Taking the cup, a little warily, he sipped at it. Stone cold, but it had been good coffee at some point in time. Several gulps of coffee later, he was heading for the shower with a change of clothing.

=_=_=_=_=

"Alright, Yuy, I'm here, what do you need first?"

Maxwell stood by the desk, still toweling his hair dry but apparently ready to face the music. Heero glanced at him, and raised an eyebrow. "I don't want to talk to you until you're decent," he stated flatly.

Maxwell stared at him, then looked down at himself. He was wearing jeans, although still barefoot and he had yet to find a shirt; but he wasn't running around in a towel or anything. "I am decent, Yuy, what's your problem? Do you want my report or not?"

Heero looked pointedly at the loose, damp hair, tumbling down over his bare chest as he rubbed his head with the towel. "Finish with that and get it out of the way, first," he said coldly. "I have no interest in sitting here and watching you mess with it." Like he would want to watch the man brush it and remake that fucking braid while Heero was trying to concentrate on getting a proper report out of him.

A fleeting expression of something Heero couldn't read crossed Maxwell's face before his obnoxious smile covered it up. "Yeah, yeah, okay, I'll go braid it quick." To Heero's relief, he disappeared back to the bathroom to do so. He turned back to the file he'd been working on, ignoring the lingering scent of freshly washed hair.

Five minutes later, Maxwell reappeared, still shirtless but with his hair neatly braided. The braid hung over his shoulder, trailing down his naked torso practically to his waist. He sat down on the edge of his bed with his cup of coffee in his hands. Heero surmised that he must have gone and gotten a refill; the way he'd been drinking it down, there was no way he hadn't finished the first lot by now.

He watched as Maxwell took a long drink from the mug in his hands, then sighed in satisfaction. Tilting his head, which caused his braid to sway in that slightly hypnotic way and brush his lap, he gave Heero a cocky look. Heero frowned in annoyance.

"02 reporting, sir!" the Deathscythe pilot informed him mockingly. Smartass.

Heero turned in his chair, resting an elbow on the back of it, and gave him a short, clipped nod. "I trust you at least managed to complete your mission before you fell asleep?" he asked doubfutlly.

Maxwell looked injured. "Of course! Why d'you think I fell asleep in the first place?" Without waiting for Heero to speculate or make a sarcastic comment, he continued, "I got all the info, don't worry. Then I was bored out of my freaking mind waiting for it to get dark," he said disgustedly. "Stuck up a tree with nothing to do--you'd fall asleep too!"

Heero stiffened, glaring at him, incensed by the implication that he would ever be so lax in discipline while on a mission, no matter how bored he got. Like hell!

Maxwell seemed to think better of his assertion also, as he hastily amended, "Nah, *you* probably wouldn't." He sounded personally affronted by this. "Any normal person would. Just my luck to get partnered with the one soldier who's so perfect it's insane. Do you ever think about anything but the mission, Yuy?" He scowled moodily at his cup of coffee.

Sighing in irritation, Heero prompted him, ignoring the stupid question. "So, what did you find?"

He listened patiently as Maxwell gave his report finally, relieved to hear that he had indeed gotten all the necessary information. The mission could go forward as planned. He did his best to ignore the way Maxwell's braid swung with his animated gestures. When he finished his coffee, he set the mug aside and flipped the braid behind him, revealing even more of his lean, muscled body, and leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees. Heero firmly squelched the faintly disturbing feeling that gave him the irrational urge to tell him to put a damn shirt on already.

Determinedly, he focused on putting the information to use, altering his mission plan accordingly as Maxwell gave him the specifics of the base's defenses.

=_=_=_=_=

Kat met them at the door when they rejoined the others several days later. They were a day behind the schedule, as their mission had apparently taken longer than planned, and he'd been concerned at the delay. His worried look eased into a welcoming smile as he saw that neither of them was injured in any way.

Although unhurt, they both looked tired and frustrated; he could see the signs of strain in their faces and tense posture. He guessed Duo would be wanting to vent, and surpressed his wry amusement. With the brief greetings out of the way, he pointed them in the direction of their rooms, and went to make sure there was hot coffee for Duo when he finished putting his gear away.

For his part, Duo was grateful to find himself with a different roommate, noting the signs of one of the beds having been used and a few scattered personal possessions as he entered the room. Evidently the other occupant was Trowa. He sighed with relief as he slung his duffle onto the other bed. He planned on avoiding Yuy as much as possible for several days now. God, the man got on his nerves!

He kicked off his boots, leaving them on the floor, then dropped his socks on top of them. Wriggling his bare toes, he grinned in satisfaction. Much better. Briefly, he contemplated unpacking immediately and maybe taking a shower, but decided against it. He could do that later. He needed coffee, now.

Kat was waiting for him in the hall with a steaming mug, and Duo took it readily, flashing him a grin of thanks. He lifted the mug to his nose, breathing in an appreciative sniff of the fragrant aroma before taking a gulp of the hot black liquid. "Ahh, yeah," he sighed contentedly, "that's better. Nobody makes coffee like you do, Kat."

Kat looked amused. "I didn't make it, Duo; I think Trowa did."

"Well, thank God for Trowa then," Duo retorted.

"I should think so," Kat replied, with a meaningful glance at the room Duo had just left.

"Yeah," Duo agreed fervently. "No kidding. I don't want to see Yuy up close and personal for a week now!"

Kat raised an eyebrow at the vehemence of his response. Something must have happened on this mission to make the two of them even more uncomfortable with each other. He wished he could read Yuy better; he was nearly certain that Duo's attraction to the Wing pilot was not one-sided, but not certain enough to do anything about it. "This house is pretty big," he told Duo calmly. "You shouldn't have any trouble avoiding him, considering what a loner he is."

He led the way toward the small library where they could talk in peace. Duo followed him, muttering complaints about Yuy's anti-social tendencies as he did so. Kat wondered if two such different people could make a relationship work if they did get together. But there was no denying they made a good team. Perhaps their differences would balance each other out--but he had a feeling any relationship between them would be a tempestuous one.

In the softly lit library Kat settled into a comfy armchair, watching in amusement as Duo made a beeline for the windowseat. Duo curled up there with one leg bent under him, and held his coffee in both hands as if to warm them. Staring out the window, he didn't speak immediately, seemingly admiring the view, or perhaps simply gathering his thoughts; it was dark outside. Then with a sigh he turned to Kat, saying, "So, I guess you're wondering what happened."

"I was a bit worried, yes," Kat admitted.

Duo bit his lip, not sure where to start. He would prefer not to tell Kat *exactly* what had happened. "Well," he began, "the base was supposed to be pretty small, so we figured it would be pretty easy, right?"

Kat nodded; that was why he was surprised they had run into trouble. He could sense, though, that whatever had gone wrong on this mission, both pilots felt that Duo was somehow at fault.

"It *was* small. Not much in the way of defenses, either. I got recon duty, so I was going on a quick mission to check out the base before we hit it. It was easy. Way too easy, I guess." He made a face, and took a drink of his coffee. Kat waited patiently for him to finish.

Duo leaned back, resting his head against the window frame. His eyes were fixed on some invisible spot above him on the frame of the opposite side of the window. It was polished wood, in rather good condition, but hardly interesting.

"You missed something?" Kat prompted finally. He didn't think that was it; Duo wasn't prone to overconfidence, but everyone made mistakes.

"No," came the chagrined reply, "I didn't miss a thing. I found out everything I had to know in about half a day." Now his hesitation seemed to have worn off, and his words tumbled out as he gave vent to his frustration. "I was sitting stuck up in a damn tree near the base, because it was the best spot to see from. I could see the entire base, but I didn't have to worry about being seen--it was one of those trees with big thick canopies, broad leaves, you know? No worries. Like I said, only took me half a day...but I had to wait until after dark to sneak off without being seen. I was stuck up there sitting on my ass on a goddamn tree branch all afternoon with absolutely fucking *nothing* to do! I was bored out of my mind. I started trying to plan the mission on my own for god's sake, just to keep my brain occupied."

Kat nodded and murmured sympathetically, hiding his smile. The picture of a very bored Duo stranded in a tree until night fell was just too amusing, but he didn't think Duo was ready to share the humor yet. He was still too mad at himself about the fuck up, whatever it had been.

"I mean, god...I was watching freaking squirrels and counting bloody leaves before the afternoon was over, it was that bad. It just seemed to go on forever and ever...I've never seen the sun move that slow in my life. I was soooo bored, I thought night was never going to come."

Duo was now scowling disgustedly at his cup of coffee, which hadn't done anything. Well, it had probably gotten cold. Kat wondered when that became an offense which incurred the wrath of Shinigami. "So what did you do?" he asked.

"I didn't *do* anything," Duo shot back. "I--" he faltered as his face colored, then muttered, "I fell asleep."

Kat blinked. He asked dubiously, "You fell asleep? In a tree? Are you insane?"

Duo growled, "No!" His glare could have been a thermal weapon, it was so fierce. "Jeez, what is it with you and Yuy? I was *bored*, okay?" he said defensively. "It makes me sleepy. Anyway, I would have been fine, but the guard made a patrol *outside* the base, after dark. They were using dogs, and apparently their dogs are smarter than they are." Duo smirked.

"They found me and woke me up, and I had to do some fast talking to keep from figuring out what I was doing there. I didn't even get captured, really, they just turned me over to the police as a runaway. But it made me late; I didn't get back to the school until the next day, and of course Yuy got his panties in a bunch over it."

Kat frowned. That made sense, but...his eyes narrowed as he studied his friend. It didn't quite account for the degree of frustration and anger with himself Duo had been exhibiting since they had arrived. There was something else...

"And then?" he asked, wondering if Duo just hadn't gotten to the real problem yet, or if he was really hiding it. He never lied, but he was very good at strategic omission.

Duo shrugged. "Then he kicked my ass--not literally, but I thought he was going to glare a hole through me--and we postponed the mission for a day, which just about killed him, I think. Took out the base eventually, which was as easy as we thought it would be, and here we are."

Kat eyed him for a minute, sure now that he was leaving something out. Fell asleep, huh? he thought, remembering the blush on Duo's face when he'd said it. "Mmm..." he answered, a noncommittal sound.

"What?" Duo asked, sounding defensive again. "We were only a day behind, no harm done."

"You just...fell asleep, hm? This is what you told Yuy? Stretched out on tree branch, how many feet off the ground, near an enemy base...and you fell asleep?" Kat raised an eyebrow, waiting.

Duo's face flushed again to the roots of his hair, and he scowled fiercely. Shit. Hadn't he said Kat was too perceptive for his own good? He muttered something unintelligible.

"I'm sorry, what was that?" Kat asked innocently, hiding a smile. So, he'd been right. This should be good.

"I said," Duo growled, louder, "not exactly, okay?"

Kat gave him a look of polite disbelief. "How do you 'not exactly' fall asleep?"

Duo looked uncomfortable, and shifted his gaze to his coffee cup again. "I was sort of, you know, daydreaming. Not sleeping exactly. Just...out of it."

Aha. Daydreaming, eh? So...."Daydreaming?" Unable to hide his grin, Kat prodded, "About what, precisely?"

Duo shot him a dirty look, and didn't bother to answer.

Kat snickered. "You know," he said musingly, "if you worked a desk job or something and got caught fantasizing at work like that, you could get fired. Especially if it caused that kind of delay...you'd be screwed. Mentally and figuratively, of course."

"Kat!" Duo sputtered and choked on a drink of his coffee. "I was *not*..." he stopped. That was pretty much it, alright.

"Yes? You weren't what?" Kat's eyes were dancing with mischief, and Duo gave him a half-hearted glare.

"Don't pretend," he retorted, "that you don't spend just as much time thinking about Trowa, as I..." and he trailed off, muttering. He didn't really want to go into specifics right there.

Kat smirked. "At least I'm not as obvious about it. You practically drool when he walks into the room."

"I do NOT!" Duo exclaimed, incensed and slightly worried. He glanced around, as if suddenly aware that someone might have heard, or seen, evidence of his fascination.

"Well," Kat amended, "not quite...but you watch him. I don't think he's noticed," he reassured his friend.

Duo studied him seriously for a moment. "Kat," he said warningly, "if you ever say *anything* to him or anyone else, I will kill you. AND," he added menacingly, "I'll use your Gundam for spare parts afterwards."

A glint of amusement shone in Kat's blue eyes, but he nodded and replied soothingly, "Don't worry, I won't say a word."

The suspicious glare held for a moment longer, as if making sure the warning stuck, and then Duo sighed and slumped back against the window frame. "God, this is so stupid. He's such an asshole...who cares if he's hot and sexy? He's a jerk!" He turned his head and banged it against one of cool glass panes of the window. "He's a fucking jerk, and he's not attractive at all! At least, he shouldn't be," he finished moodily.

Kat couldn't help it; he laughed. "You've got it bad, Maxwell," he teased.

"Don't I know it," Duo groaned, getting to his feet. He grinned wryly. "At least I get a break here for a little while...thanks for putting me in a different room."

Kat tilted his head to look up at him, brushing his blonde hair out of his eyes. "That was Trowa's doing, actually. He said it was bad for the team having you guys fighting all the time."

Duo's eyes widened in surprise, then a rather shamefaced grin quirked the corner of his mouth. "Yeah, he did say that, didn't he?" He shook his head. "I suppose I should thank him, then..." He waved his empty coffee cup in a vague sort of salute as he turned to leave the room. "I'm gonna go take a shower and crash, I guess...g'night!"

"See you tomorrow," Kat answered, watching affectionately as Duo padded out of the room, nearly silent on his bare feet. His rumpled braid hung down behind him, gently swaying as he disappeared into the hall. Kat sighed and shook his head. If he was a little more sure of Yuy's feelings, he would just lock them both in a bloody room somewhere until they came to their senses.

He wondered if Duo had similar thoughts about him and Trowa. Probably not, he decided. After all, like he'd said, he wasn't as obvious about his feelings as Duo was. Maybe that was the problem. He pondered that for several minutes, before getting up and turning out the lights.

Outside, the moon hung just above the treetops, shining in and leaving a silvery patch of light on the floor. Kat moved so he wasn't standing in it, and watched the shadows ripple as some light clouds drifted across the night sky. It was an oddly peaceful sight, and he stood for a moment, letting it soak in. Then he turned and headed off to bed, his steps almost as silent as Duo's.  


-tbc-


	4. Part 6

**CHAPTER 6**

Wufei congratulated himself on the fact that when Barton had suggested they ensure that Maxwell and Yuy were not sharing a room, he had managed to avoid ending up with Maxwell as his roommate. He and Yuy might not always get along, but they understood each other in a way that he would never understand the pilot of Deathscythe if he had a hundred years. Wufei was certain that Maxwell was at least half crazy, and he tended to make anyone else that way who spent much time with him. So he had volunteered to share a room with Yuy, leaving the crazy one for Winner or Barton; either of whom seemed to have a great deal more patience for Maxwell's quirks than Wufei did.

Unlike Winner, he had not been concerned by the other pilots' delayed return. Maxwell and Yuy were formidable enough each on their own, and together he had no doubt they were a match for whatever they had run into. So he had remained sitting calmly on his bed, reading, and looked up with only a mild curiosity when Yuy finally walked into the room.

Yuy went straight to the desk, and dropped everything except his laptop case on the floor beside it. He took the laptop out, his hands lingering almost caressingly on the smooth outer casing as he set it carefully on the desk. When he had raised the lid and powered it on, he relaxed almost imperceptibly as soon as it was up and connected to the nets again. There was an air almost of reverence about his movements, and if Wufei had been a more expressive individual, he might have rolled his eyes, or shaken his head.

Instead he merely watched as Yuy, having taken care of the really important things, turned to survey the empty bed. He contemplated it for a moment, almost wearily, as if debating whether or not to just crash and leave the rest till morning. Discipline won out, however, and he bent to retrieve his belongings, methodically going about his minimal unpacking.

"Trouble on the mission?" Wufei asked him, simply to make an opening if Yuy wished to elaborate.

"Maxwell," was stated curtly by way of an answer. Apparently, he did _not_ wish to elaborate.

"Ah..." Wufei really needed no more explanation than that; but he was curious. "What happened?"

Yuy snorted. "Idiot almost got himself caught; soldiers picked him up outside the base on a recon."

Wufei raised an eyebrow. "Almost?"

Yuy shrugged, a mere twitch of his shoulders as they slumped in weariness. He was kneeling on the floor, sorting through the contents of his duffle for the items he needed tonight. Brushing his messy hair out of his eyes, he threw a glance up at Wufei. "Talked his way out of it, as usual."

Wufei considered that. He was sure that Maxwell _could_ talk his way out of such a situation; it would have been interesting to watch. Then he frowned. "How did he get caught?"

"Fell asleep, he said," Yuy answered absently. He began to change his clothes for the night with the carefully precise, mechanical motions of controlled exhaustion. Which was not so very different from his usual careful precision in everything he did--but looking closely, Wufei could observe the signs of tired abstraction. He seemed to have something on his mind.

Thoughtfully, Wufei replaced his bookmark and followed suit, changing for bed and then heading to the bathroom to brush his teeth. He would have asked another question or two, since that explanation struck him as being rather odd, but he had a feeling he wouldn't get much of an answer.

When he re-entered the room, Yuy was sitting on the edge of his bed, outstretched arms supporting him as he sat with his head bent, staring intently at the floor. Wufei was a bit surprised; he had expected to find the other boy in bed, perhaps half-asleep already. But Yuy was biting his lip, as if debating whether or not to say something. Wufei watched him warily for a moment, wondering what the problem might be. He waited, but Yuy said nothing, so after a minute he shut off the light and crawled into bed.

Closing his eyes, he felt himself sink into the mattress, gradually relaxing all over, gravity pulling him into sleep as he cleared his mind and centered himself. He was startled then, half a minute later, when Yuy's voice suddenly brought him fully back to wakefulness.

"Chang...could you do me a favor?" The question was quiet, rather hesitant, almost embarrassed--'what? embarrassed?' Wufei thought, puzzled. He couldn't imagine what could fluster Heero Yuy. He didn't ever remember seeing him like that. Peering across the near total darkness of the room, he could see that the other pilot was still sitting on the edge of his bed.

"What is it?" he asked, trying not to sound too surprised or curious, or anything else that might further discomfit his roommate.

Wufei got the distinct impression that Yuy was gnawing on his lip again as he weighed his reply. When he spoke it was stiff, stilted, the words halting as if he was unsure what he wanted to say, or even if he wanted to say anything. "I...have not slept well the past few nights. I would like for you to...leave me alone, if you--if I should happen to wake you tonight."

To say that Wufei was shocked would be an exaggeration, or perhaps an understatement. He simply stared blankly across the room in the darkness, not knowing what kind of response to make to that. Fortunately, Yuy went on before he had to come up with one. His tone was stiff, hesitant, trying to cover that sense of embarrassment; or maybe it was shame. "I might disturb you. If I do, please ignore it. It's nothing I can't handle." He stopped, rather abruptly, as if he had simply run out of words.

Wufei nodded slowly, forgetting that Yuy couldn't see him. "Of course," he said solemnly, "I will leave you be." He could allow the man that much dignity, at least. When one lost control of one's reactions to the degree the request implied, one preferred not to be aware--or at least, not forcibly reminded--of any witnesses.

Yuy grunted in relief, unable or unwilling to voice his thanks, but knowing that Wufei had understood. There was a rustling sound as he finally climbed under the covers and settled down to sleep.

Wufei, on the other hand, stared at the ceiling for some time, wondering what exactly had happened on that mission to make Yuy so wary of the strength of his nightmares.

  
= - = - =

  
Heero awoke for the last time, finally, the next morning, and for awhile he didn't move. It was still far too early to be up, and yet late enough that it would be pointless to try and return to sleep before he truly had to be up. He just lay there in the pre-dawn dimness, thinking, trying to make some sense out of this somnial turmoil that afflicted him. He was thoroughly frustrated, confused, and rather disgusted with himself. He didn't understand it.

It was like the previous occasion when his nightmares had returned, though not quite as severe, since there had been only one night's respite this time. But for the last few nights again, he had been awakened repeatedly in the grips of terror, unaware at first of his surroundings, and had to force himself to calm down enough to fall asleep again. He was very grateful that tonight Chang had kept his word, and had not made so much as a sign that he had been disturbed as well.

He had gotten a resounding answer the question of how many free nights he would get. Exactly one. Just that one night he had sat up waiting for Maxwell. But why? It was so unpredictable, there seemed to be no pattern to it. He had always had terrible dreams nightly, for as long as he could remember. It was highly illogical for that pattern to suddenly become erratic. There must be a reason, some factor affecting the change.

He was suddenly, insistently reminded of his earlier odd thoughts about the lavender scent which had followed him around on that morning he had waited for Maxwell to return. It was ridiculous to think that had anything whatsoever to do with the problem...but the fact remained, that the nights when he had been nightmare free had one thing in common, and so far as he could tell, one thing only. And that was the direct influence of Maxwell's shampoo.

Heero snorted aloud to himself, amazed that he was even thinking this; it was absurd! He raised one hand to rub his eyes without lifting his head, and blinked several times as if to clear his thoughts. Yet his analytical mind persisted in the opinion that this was, apparently, the determining factor. It was logical--if silly. Yes, indeed, he thought, it was extremely foolish to think that the scent of someone's shampoo could have an effect on their sleep.

Wait. That actually was a reasonable assumption...maybe...a little...

"No way," he muttered to himself. He rose up on his elbows and ran his fingers through his sleep-mussed hair, unable to believe that he was actually considering this theory. But it _was_ a theory. At the moment, it was his only theory. And evidently, as theories went, it was sound enough, although it was as yet untested.

Heero blinked. Test it? Was he actually thinking of.... Frowning, he folded his arms beneath his chin as he pondered that. How _could_ such a theory be tested? He supposed he would have to experiment with shampoo and see if it consistently affected his dreams. And even then...he tried to decide if it was, indeed, worth testing.

'Yes!' his mind shot back with very little deliberation. It was an odd theory, maybe, and foolish--hell, it was _weird_ \--but if there was a chance that this was the key to sleeping better than he ever had in his life, it had to be tested. For a soldier, dreamless sleep was rare, and a thing to be envied.

And if nothing else...a tiny wicked smirk appeared on his face, an expression that would have startled his teammates if they had seen it. There was the fact that in order to test it, he would have to continue borrowing from Maxwell without telling him--for there was no way he was going to tell him, and what would he say, anyway? Maxwell would laugh at him. No, Heero would not tell him, and there was no reason to tell him; not when the other pilot never thought of asking _him_ when he wanted to borrow or use things. It was time for a little payback.

Even if he ended up, as he supposed, disproving the ludicrous idea, it would be worth it to have a further excuse to return the annoyance Maxwell so often frustrated him with. Whether the theory proved sound or not, it would be a satisfactory result. It was a good enough excuse. A good enough reason.

Very well, he decided with a grim smile, he would at least test it.

  
= - = - =

Having Duo Maxwell for a roommate was an experience, to say the least. Trowa was not a talkative person, but he didn't mind Maxwell's chatter much. He found it amusing to just sit and listen sometimes as Maxwell rambled on about things. His sense of humor was odd, but consistent, and Trowa found himself chuckling now and then at some of his observations.

He realized quickly that while Maxwell talked a lot, it was often about inconsequential things. He had an easy, friendly way about him that made you feel as if you knew him well, inviting confidence while in actuality saying little about himself. He was in some ways, a very private person, and Trowa reflected that Maxwell was not as simple to understand as it would seem at first glance.

Another thing that surprised him perhaps more than it should have, was Maxwell's inveterate curiosity about everything. When he encountered a new situation or idea, he seemed to fill up with questions, analyzing and testing it. He was also the kind of person who liked to take things apart to see how they worked, and then put them back together again.

Trowa had watched in some bemusement as this process was applied to various things, often repeatedly, and had concluded that Maxwell seemed to be making a game out of how fast he could completely dismantle and then reassemble them in working condition. Occasionally these were things that genuinely needed fixing--more often, it appeared that they simply presented a challenge or an interesting puzzle.

The latest victim of this particular amusement was a radio, currently spread out on the desk in their room, and Maxwell was leaning over it with a tiny frown of concentration that belied the gleam in his eye as he systematically disintegrated it. It appeared to have been taken from his Gundam, which Trowa thought was rather optimistic of him, to assume that he would not be needing it for as long as it took him to put it back in working order.

Lying on his bunk, partially absorbed in a thick book, Trowa observed the progress of the operation with occasional sideways glances. Whatever Maxwell was doing to it, seemed to be a little more complicated than simply taking it apart and putting it back together. There were frequent mutterings under his breath interspersed with his usual practice of humming, whistling, or singing while he worked.

After the most recent bout of this, Trowa put down his book to watch with idle interest. If this were a contest of sorts between Maxwell and the machine, he appeared to be losing. "Maxwell, what _are_ you doing to your radio?" he asked finally.

Maxwell looked up in slight surprise, as if he had forgotten there was someone else in the room, or had assumed that he was being ignored. "It's not my radio, it's Kat's," he explained.

This only added to unusualness of the project--Maxwell often played mechanic on his own things, but rarely those of others. Trowa raised his eyebrows. "Winner let you take the radio out of his Gundam, and take it apart. What the hell for?" he asked in mild curiosity.

Looking slightly embarrassed behind his grin, Maxwell shrugged, rubbing the back of his neck as he stretched a bit. "He wants me to rig it to perform automatic triangulation on the location of any incoming signal using the navigational system." He waved at the parts on the desk. "Not all of that is from the radio--I have to tie it into the nav system, and set it to display the location with zoom capabilities from satellite images."

Trowa digested this. That sounded rather useful, actually. "You can do that?"

"If I have the right parts, yeah. That's where Kat went, to find me some of the stuff I need."

Interesting. Trowa shook his head. "Where did he get this idea?"

The grin Maxwell gave him was pure mischief. "Saw what I did to mine. I rigged the one in Deathscythe the same way, and I use it all the time."

Trowa thought belatedly that he really ought to have known that, and he shook his head again. He refrained--at least for the time being--from asking Maxwell to do the same to his own. He could possibly figure it out for himself anyway, and it would be interesting to try, albeit not very practical.

He considered the problem for a moment, his mind noting the systems and parts that would be affected or offline if he did so, estimating that the Gundam's readiness would be at roughly 60 percent while he worked on it. Maybe less. A risk, but it could be done. He could always ask Maxwell to help him with it if it looked like it would take him too long.

A brief silence fell between them as Trowa returned to his book, then a few minutes later Maxwell spoke again, sounding a bit guarded, and almost diffident.

"Say, um...you, make good coffee."

Trowa blinked, and raised an eyebrow. "Is that a subtle way of asking will I make some?"

"Well...see, I suck at it," Maxwell admitted with a sheepish grin. "And Kat will be back soon, and..." his voice trailed off, and he looked hopeful.

Thoughtfully, Trowa nodded, replacing his book on the bed beside him as he rose and left the room on silent feet. Now that was one thing that did not surprise him at all. He had noticed that while Maxwell was reasonably friendly and helpful to everyone, he would really only go out of his way for Quatre. That extended to doing things he found disagreeable or uncomfortable, or simply annoying and would not normally have bothered with, such as making dinner when it was his turn, doing dishes when it wasn't, or picking things up and putting them away instead of leaving them where he dropped them. And apparently, admitting his ineptitude at making coffee even if it caused him some embarrassment.

Trowa pondered this phenomenon as he moved about the kitchen, making Quatre's coffee. Quatre was the one person Maxwell seemed to be truly close to, and whom he invariably referred to as 'Cat'. Trowa had wondered about the reasons for that particular nickname, other than the obvious similar sound, but he had to admit the name seemed to suit the blonde boy rather well. The sly mischief and careful thoughtfulness, the sense of being at peace and yet watchful, the air of refined elegance he never seemed to completely lose even in combat were all rather reminiscent of his namesake. It seemed in some way very fitting.

It was also indicative of the bond between them that he was the only one, thus far, who had been given such a nickname; it was the sort of thing friends did, implying a level of comfortable affection Trowa wasn't sure he understood. They had just seemed to hit it off well, and it was amusing to watch them together. It was as if they had been brothers in another life, and were just picking up where they left off. Trowa had never had a friend like that, himself; as he waited for the coffee to finish brewing, he wondered what it was like.

When he returned to their room, he handed Maxwell the cup he'd brought back, then picked up his heavy book and settled himself comfortably on his bunk.

Maxwell took an appreciative sip from the steaming mug, and set it down in one of the few clear spaces on the desk, throwing him a curious glance as he went back to work. "Whatcha reading?"

Trowa looked up at him, considering. "’T is a fault to Heaven, a fault against the dead, a fault to nature, to reason most absurd," he said solemnly.

"Ahh..." A sharp glance from the corner of his eye was the only indication that Maxwell was startled by the response. "Shakespeare," he identified the quote, nodding to himself and frowning a little as he pulled on a wire. His hands stilled then and he tilted his head, looking not at Trowa, but past him as his forehead wrinkled in thought. "Hamlet," he announced momentarily, and Trowa nodded in slight surprise.

Maxwell grinned at him. "The flash and outbreak of a fiery mind, a savageness in unreclaimed blood."

Further surprised and intrigued, Trowa leaned back on his elbows and gave him a level glance. "It is not nor it cannot come to good," he asserted, watching Maxwell expectantly.

Maxwell shrugged philosophically. "All that lives must die, passing through nature to eternity." He shot Trowa a sideways look, his eyes glinting with amusement. "There is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so."

Trowa allowed his smile to show. This could be fun. "Our wills and fates do so contrary run, that our devices still are overthrown," he countered, pointing out, "Our thoughts are ours, their ends none of our own."

Maxwell shrugged again. "If it be now, 'tis not to come; if it be not to come, it will be now; if it be not now, yet it will come — the readiness is all. Since no man, of aught he leaves, knows what is't to leave betimes, let be." His rough-accented voice blended strangely, yet rhythmically into the elegant cadence of the lines; he sounded as if he were repeating an old familiar verse, one that he had read and recited many times.

It made his point with simple, final grace; Trowa could not think of single appropriate retort. He opened his mouth, and closed it again, shaking his head. "Though this be madness, yet there is method in ’t," he conceded.

The answering laughter was bordering on gleeful, and Trowa mock-scowled at him. "O villain, villain, smiling, damned villain! My tables--meet it is I set it down, that one may smile, and smile, and be a villain."

Maxwell grinned unrepentantly. "Season your admiration for a while," he teased. "Every man has business and desire, such as it is."

Trowa nodded judiciously. He was curious now, wondering what it was that Maxwell found to interest him in the text of the old play; he clearly knew it rather well. "Come, give us a taste of your quality," he challenged, raising an eyebrow. "What's your favorite line?"

"To thine own self be true; and it must follow, as the night the day, thou can'st not then be false to any man," Maxwell answered promptly, not having to think about it.

Trowa was surprised, and somewhat impressed, in spite of himself; his other eyebrow rose to join the first near his hairline. Whatever he'd been expecting, that was not it. Perhaps it should have been, he reflected, remembering that Maxwell followed his own code of honor. Trowa eyed him with interest, seeing him in a new light. He'd never really considered before that Maxwell might have that kind of depth to him. After this conversation, he would have to rethink his opinion. "To be honest as this world goes, is to be one man picked out of ten thousand," he agreed, nodding in a faint salute.

Maxwell looked faintly embarrassed. "It's a good way to live," he shrugged. "What's yours?" he asked, turning the subject around.

Trowa thought for a minute, looking down at the book in his hand. A tiny smile quirked the corner of his mouth, and he shot a glance at Duo from underneath the fall of his hair. "Brevity," he said in a solemn voice, "is the soul of wit." The glint in his green eyes was barely visible behind his hair, and for a minute, Maxwell took him seriously.

He started to nod, looking as if he had expected that--then he paused and looked at Trowa sharply, perhaps hearing the subtle note of humor in his tone. "Yeah? Let it be tenable in your silence still..." he noted, and let the sentence trail off, considering.

"Give thy thoughts no tongue," Trowa continued, straight faced now. "They have a plentiful lack of wit."

A moments silence, and then a rapid series of expressions flashed across Maxwell's face--shock, outrage, chagrin, and finally grudging amusement. "Got me," he admitted with a rueful laugh. "So what is it really?"

Trowa smiled briefly, then sobered as he contemplated the question. "Find out the cause of this effect, or rather say, the cause of this defect, for this effect defective comes by cause," he said at length.

Maxwell whistled softly to himself. "Nice," he nodded. "This time I believe you." He grinned cheerfully, the kind of grin that accepted defeat with grace--and the promise of friendly retribution to follow at a later date, of course. Trowa found himself looking forward to it.

===

Comfortable silence had fallen for a stretch of time, as Trowa returned to his book and Maxwell went back to his radio. He had set his coffee down on the corner of the desk, near his elbow--the only clear spot. Trowa eyed it dubiously, thinking that it looked precarious, but he said nothing.

Maxwell appeared to know what he was doing, and indeed, the heavy mug escaped several close calls without incident as pilot-mechanic moved deftly among the pieces he was altering--snipping wires, swapping connections, rearranging and tightening screws. He seemed to have a sixth sense of where things were, and his elbow repeatedly just missed catching the top of his mug as he reached across the small desk.

After a while, Trowa stopped watching out of the corner of his eye for the impending collision. Which is why he was taken by surprise when the clatter, splash, and cursing from the other boy confirmed that he had, indeed, knocked it over and spilled coffee on the desk, and far too near his sensitive electronics.

"Ah, shit!" he exclaimed, hastily moving parts out of the way of the rapidly spreading brown puddle of hot liquid.

Trowa smirked. "You need a bigger desk," he commented.

Maxwell shot him a dirty look. "No shit, Sherlock?" he snapped as he hurriedly moved more pieces of electronics out of the way.

Trowa continued smirking silently and went to get him a towel. By the time the mess was cleaned up, Maxwell's good humor had been restored, and he was--after some subtle prompting--cheerfully explaining the finer details of what he was doing as Trowa helped him carry all the bits and pieces out to the kitchen table.

"And I need an additional transceiver with a stronger range that can pick up and intercept landbased transmissions from space, even when they aren't specifically directed at the Gundam."

"Is that what Winner is looking for?"

Maxwell nodded without looking up as he rearranged his new working space. "He said he knows someone around here who can find parts. I told him what I needed, so hopefully he won't have trouble getting the right one."

"It's an interesting idea," Trowa decided. "Very useful." He definitely needed to see about modifying his own.

Cocking his head to one side, Maxwell nodded to himself as he began to work again. "I could do yours too, if you want," he offered absently.

Trowa raised an eyebrow at the unexpected offer. He wouldn't mind allowing Maxwell to do it for him, but then there was the question of what he would want in return. He would probably do it for nothing for Winner, since they were friends; but Trowa himself had no such claim on him.

"I don't know...what do you want for it?" he asked, warily.

Maxwell looked surprised, then calculating. "Hadn't really thought about it... guess we can say you owe me one." Then he grinned. "If you want, but really, I was just going to do it. You don't have to owe me anything."

Trowa refrained from pointing out that he would feel like he owed him whether Maxwell considered it a debt or not. He was still talking though, and his next words were even more unexpected.

"We're friends, it's not a big deal."

"Are we?" Trowa asked in some surprise.

"Sure!" Maxwell replied immediately. "Kat likes you, that's good enough for me."

Trowa blinked. He was sure he'd heard Maxwell perfectly fine, but the words weren't making sense. "Cat....likes me?" he asked, bemused. Likes as in... _likes_?

Maxwell shrugged. "He thinks you're cool. And he really appreciated you making the room arrangments the way you did." He paused, a bit awkwardly. "So did I," he admitted, ducking his head and fixing his eyes on his work again.

Ah. No, of course not _likes_ , like that. Just...likes. But that was surprising enough in itself, and Trowa wondered why he had even considered that it might mean anything more. Why he found himself...slightly disappointed. He lifted one shoulder in a faint shrug as he settled back into his chair.

"It's nothing; just makes it a little easier on all of us."

Maxwell nodded, looking wry and a bit discouraged. "You're right," he agreed, "we fight too much." He remained bent over the pieces of the radio he was tinkering with.

Studying him thoughtfully, Trowa wondered if he could get Maxwell to talk about it. They could always keep fixing the sleeping arrangements, but the ideal thing would be to eliminate the problem in the first place. "Maxwell... Duo," he corrected himself--if they were friends, well, he supposed they were on first name basis. "Why is it that you two fight the way you do?" he asked.

A short, sharp laugh sounded, and Maxwell shook his head. "Hell if I know....guess we're just too different. Seems like everything I do makes him mad. I talk too much, I'm not neat enough, I bother him when he's tryin' to concentrate...I dunno. He just doesn't like me at all."

"Hmm," Trowa replied noncommittally. He doubted that the fault was all on one side; Maxwell was annoying, sometimes, no question about that, but not so much that he made people explode at him just from being in the same room. Which was how Yuy always ended up reacting to him. There was more to it than the surface personality clashes. He would have to watch them both more closely, and see if he could figure out what was going on. Maxwell didn't appear to have any idea of where the problem was; perhaps if he kept an eye on Yuy for awhile, he would pick up some clues.

He might talk to Cat as well; the blonde boy was rather perceptive, particularly when it came to Duo. He would probably have some ideas about the problem. Trowa changed the subject. "You're very close, aren't you?"

"Huh?" Duo looked up, startled by the sudden question; apparently he had been thinking hard about the previous topic. It likely bothered him more than anyone else that he didn't know what it was about him that irritated Yuy to the point of violence more often than not.

"You and Cat, you seem very close."

"I suppose so," he answered with a shrug. "He's m'friend, yeah... We haven't really known each other that long, but he's a good guy, Kat is."

Trowa nodded, a trifle wistfully. He would have to talk to Cat about...things. Maxwell and Yuy, of course. Yes. That was it.

= - = - =

When Quatre returned, several hours later, the house was quiet, and Trowa had returned to his room and his book. In the kitchen Duo was still up to his elbows in wires and electronics and pieces of circuit board spread out all over the table. A fresh cup of coffee was safely ensconced to one side, in a clear patch which he didn't have to reach around or over.

Kat surveyed the damage with raised eyebrows, wondering how Duo thought he was going to get all of those pieces back in their proper places in a reasonable amount of time. It gave him a headache just thinking about it, and he was tired; he decided he would worry about it later.

Looking around, he sorted through the available food in the house in his head, trying to decide if he felt like bothering to make much of anything. And what was that...it smelled good...surely he didn't...but who else would...

"There's coffee?" Kat looked surprised, then doubtful. "Duo... I appreciate the thought, but--"

"Trowa made it," Duo interrupted without looking up.

"Oh." Kat tried not to sound relieved, and went to find a mug without further comment. He tossed the small package on the table as he went by, and Duo pounced on it eagerly.

Tearing the wrapping off, Duo held it up for inspection, turning it over, nodding to himself--then he stopped, and a frown began to creep over his face. He turned the small piece of electronics over a few more times, the frown growing more pronounced as he did so.

Kat took a sip of his coffee--it _was_ really good coffee--and turned to see why Duo was so quiet. At the expression on Duo's face, his brow creased quizzically and he came over to stand beside him. Duo looked up, still frowning.

"Kat...where did you get this?"

Kat regarded him, a little puzzled and a little wary; when Duo said 'Kat...' in that tone of voice--it was never a good thing. "From our underground supply contact for this area--he's a WEI affiliate, and I've worked with him before. Why?"

"This isn't what I asked you for," Duo said, suspiciously.

"Yes it is," Kat took the piece from his hand and pointed to the fittings on the back. "See? Just like you said."

"No." Duo shook his head. "It does the same thing, kind of, but it isn't...it's not--this is Alliance make."

Kat's eyes widened. "Alliance..." He shook his head in confusion. "But how?"

Duo tossed the part back at him. "I don't know, but it doesn't matter now." He started gathering up the electronics scattered over the table, hurriedly putting the radio back into at least basic working order. "Whoever it is obviously has some contacts you don't know about. This place isn't safe anymore...we need to split. You have assignments for our next missions?"

Kat nodded slowly as his mind shifted gears, to planning an emergency evac of this locale. "Yes, I can send them to you...but my nav systems are only semi operational now." He frowned at the mess of his radio in Duo's hands.

"I'll send you the coordinates once we get moving, let's just go, now, before that sneaking bastard rats us out."

"What do I do with this? Can you use it?"

Duo shook his head. "I don't know. I'd have to mess with it some more. Maybe, later. Give it to Yuy for now, he might be able to track where it came from and who your guy is working for."

Kat was slightly disturbed by the 'your' and the associated implications, but now was not the time for placing blame, so he simply nodded and went to grab his own things.

Once again, it was time to run.


End file.
